


Too Close

by terma_archivist



Category: Millennium (TV), The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-01
Updated: 2001-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 31,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: While investigating a case, Frank Black finds himself too close for comfort to the main suspect
Collections: TER/MA





	1. Part I: Live For A Reason To Die

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).  
> DISCLAIMER: I did not create Millennium, nor X-Files, and so I don't own any of the characters. Okay, I lie. I own Paul (but not Lucy Butler). I own the Senator, and his family. I own the forensics woman. Not many others. I don't even own the quotes at the beginnings of each part... EXPLANATION: This is the first fic in my Millennium/X-Files alternate universe. You might have read a fic later on in the universe, but it'll probably make more sense if you read this one. This majorly disregards Millennium canon. Okay, maybe not majorly. It's kind of a psychadelic season two. For X-Files, people are acting pretty non-canon like, also. For example, Skinner. I don't know why he's doing what he is, because he's not mine, he belongs to Chris Carter, remember? It's preferable to have a working knowledge of Millennium, to read this fic. It's probably possible to get by, just with a basic knowledge of the characters, but I do delve into the ""angels"" side of MM a bit. Please don't get lost. TIMELINE: For X-Files, this is very soon after ""Terma"". Obviously. Krycek says so. ;) For Millennium, it's an alternate season two... after Midnight of the Century, but set in Virginia as opposed to Seattle. NOTE: Beta-like actions by Twilight and Frankie for most of it. Okay, so Twig didn't exactly beta it, but she read it. Sue's currently beta-ing it, but she's going to LA, so I'm posting before total beta is finished. Obviously, mistakes are my bad. Finally, this is for Chantelle, whose idea it was that this changed from a simple crossover to my first universe fic. RATING: Probably an R for language, a large dose of violence, and basically being weird.

Go to notes and disclaimers 

  
**Too Close I**

Live For A Reason To Die  
by Fleur 

  
_"And in her was found the blood of prophets, and of saints, and of all that were slain upon the earth."  
Revelation 18:24_

Alex Krycek looked down at the counter, upon which his right hand rested. The dimly lit DC diner he was in had been deserted fifteen minutes ago, except for the waitress at the cash register. He had been there for almost an hour, waiting for everyone to clear out. The woman working the register was the daughter of a senator who'd managed to get himself on the syndicate's bad side. "And so they sent me to knock her off," Krycek finished in a bitter mumble. The woman looked over at him, and, ignoring her, Krycek let his hand slide down to his jacket, slipping it inside. 

He felt the cool caress of metal against his skin, and closed his fingers around the butt of his gun. Gently, silently, he slid the gun out, and rested it against his thigh. Looking over to the woman, he called, "Uh, can I get some coffee?" 

"Sure," she replied, knowing how he took it, from his previous three orders. After a couple of minutes, she brought it over, and set it down in front of Krycek. The woman stood there for a second, and he knew it was his chance. 

Bringing his gun off his thigh and raising it to her forehead, he pressed the muzzle between her eyes. Knocked by his prosthetic, the mug of coffee fell to the floor, smashing. The woman's eyes focused on the gun, its cool touch, and the fact the man behind it was glaring at her. "Don't. Fucking. Move," he growled. She obeyed, apparently trying to keep her anxiety under control, but beginning to shake. Neither moved for two full minutes, until Krycek continued, "You can thank Daddy for this one." He punctuated his sentence by pulling the trigger. The gun sounded, and the woman dropped to the floor, head slumping to the side, a perfect hole between her eyes. 

Krycek slipped his gun back inside his jacket, and smiled coldly. Turning around, he walked out the door of the diner, the doors swinging shut behind him, leaving everything silent. 

* * *

Frank Black was woken by the ringing of the phone. He rolled over and fumbled in the dark for a minute, before finding the receiver. Frank brought it up to his ear. "Frank Black," he said into it, slurring the words into one. 

"Frank? We got a dead body." 

"Giebelhouse?" Frank replied incredulously. He sank back down onto the pillow. "What time is it?" 

There was a pause while Giebelhouse checked his watch. "Five thirty. Look, you might want to get down here." 

Rubbing his eyes with his left hand, he replied, "Where are you?" 

"The Socket Diner, downtown. You know, electric food, we promise..." 

"I know it. Be there in twenty minutes." 

"See ya, Frank." 

Frank hung up the phone, and looked at the ceiling. That automatically cancelled his plans for the day. He was supposed to take Jordan shopping for Catherine's birthday... he sighed. It was too early to call and cancel. He made a mental note to call on the cellphone later, and got up. After getting dressed, Frank grabbed the phone and the keys, and left for the diner. 

* * *

As Frank pushed open the door to the diner, exactly eighteen minutes later, Giebelhouse looked over from where he was standing, beside the counter. "Frank. Take a look at this." Frank walked over to where the detective was standing, and caught his first glimpse of the body. She was obviously young, and fairly pretty, with blonde hair splayed out on the floor, in all directions. "Her name's Brooke McLain..." 

"McLain?" Frank frowned. "As in..." 

"As in Senator McLain. Yeah. Anyway, we ain't got no pathologist to look at her yet. I thought I'd call you first." 

"No pathologists are up at this hour," Frank rubbed his eyes again, blinking in an attempt to wake up. "I wasn't awake. You know, I was supposed to spend the day with Jordan." 

Giebelhouse sighed. "Sorry. I care, Frank. However, assassins don't care." 

"Assassins? You think this was a professional hit?" 

"I don't know. It could be. It don't feel like no drive-by, random thing." 

Frank nodded, walking around the end of the counter and walking up to the girl's body. He knelt down next to it, and examined the bullet hole. After a minute of looking and carefully avoiding touching anything, he moved to the floor beside the body, where there were the shards of a shattered coffee cup. Without touching the sharpened edges, he picked a piece up. 

//cold muzzle pushed hard onto the bridge of her nose// //brush of a leather jacketed stiff elbow// //shattering mug coffee splashing everywhere// //fear as she crossed her eyes to look at the gun// 

Snapping out of it, Frank shook his head, dispelling the images, and stood up. He glanced at Giebelhouse. "Can you get someone in here who will be able to determine if the gun wound was with contact? And we need to know what sort of a weapon was used. Call the FBI for that." 

"You think this guy held the gun to her head and pulled the trigger? It'd be more likely suicide if that." 

"I know. Can you get someone?" 

Giebelhouse nodded, walking over to the phone by the register. He picked it up and dialled a number, apparently from memory. "Yeah, operator..." 

A member of the crime scene team tapped Frank on the shoulder. "Uh, Mr Black, why do you think it's a contact entry?" 

He looked at the man for a minute, then frowned. "Just a hunch." 

"I've heard about your hunches. I say we trust it." 

Frank smiled a little, then went over to one of the booths, sitting down. He laid his head on the table. It was going to be a long day. 

* * *

"Frank. Yo, Frank." 

A hand was shaking his shoulder, and Frank opened his eyes to see Giebelhouse, smiling wryly at him. "Was I asleep?" 

"Yeah. When I was on the phone, you just came over here and dropped off. Welcome to five hours later." 

Frank stood up, out of the booth. "What did I miss?" 

"The Fibbie woman came, and she's taken the bullet out, back to the Hoover. I got a pathologist in, who took a look at the body and said yeah it's contact shot. She's taken the body away, also. The team's collecting up stuff, evidence, you know. You've missed a fair bit." 

"Why didn't you wake me?" 

Giebelhouse shrugged. "I didn't want to disturb you. And anyway, we didn't need you." 

Nodding, Frank looked at his watch. Almost eleven o'clock. His eyes widened instantly. "I've got to call Catherine." He walked over to the far end of the diner, and got out his cellphone, dialling her number from memory. 

"Hello?" 

"Catherine, I..." 

"Frank? Where are you?" 

At her accusational tone, Frank cringed slightly. "Look, I'm at a scene..." 

"You were supposed to come take Jordan for the day." 

"I know, I meant to call, but I fell asleep here, and..." 

"I don't want to hear your excuses!" Catherine's voice rose, and she went on. "All I know is that our daughter is upstairs, crying, because her father didn't show up today. Your life isn't just profiling, you know." 

"Look, I'm sorry..." 

"I had to cancel my plans for the day, and you have no idea of how upset Jordan is. Can't you just neglect your job, for once, instead of your family?" 

He sighed. That one stung. "I didn't have a choice. Giebelhouse rang me at five-thirty this morning..." 

"Maybe you should have married Giebelhouse, you spend more time with him than you ever did with me." 

"Catherine, I'll make it up to Jordan. And you. It's just, we have this case..." 

"Yeah. There's always a case, Frank. Always." 

Frank, frustrated, leaned against the wall. "Can I talk to Jordan?" 

"No. I'm not having you hurt her again with your excuses." 

Opening his mouth to answer, Frank found himself talking to the dialtone. He sighed, hanging the phone up, and slipping it back in his jacket pocket. Giebelhouse looked down the diner at him. "Problems?" 

Frank nodded, not answering. Problems. The same problems that had split them up, were happening over again, the only difference being it was the police department, not the Group. He sighed again, and walked past Giebelhouse, out the door. He needed to find the results of the forensics, and he had to go to the Bureau for that. Guilt over Catherine and Jordan nagging at him, he started up the Jeep, and drove off. 

* * *

The woman from forensics was tall, with her dark hair pulled back in an extreme bun. Plastic glasses were pushed up on her head, and earmuffs rested around her neck. She walked over to Frank, carrying the bullet. "Well, the weapon used was a nine -millimetre, standard FBI issue... I'm sorry that I can't narrow it down at all for you." 

"It could be an agent's gun?" 

"Possibly. Again, it doesn't really narrow anything down, sir. I'm sorry." She paused, looking past him. "Is that the detective you're working with?" 

Frank followed her line of vision, to see Giebelhouse motioning to him. He nodded. "Excuse me." 

"Sure," the woman replied, going back to her table as Frank left the room. He walked over to the detective. 

"Giebelhouse. You got something?" 

"Sort of." he waved the tape that he held. "Surveillance. It don't give us much, but we do have a suspect. There's one guy who went into the diner and didn't come out." 

"Was he sitting at the counter?" Frank took the tape, watching Giebelhouse's face. 

Giebelhouse shrugged. "Nah, that's the thing. He wasn't. Assumably, he was sitting off to the left of the camera, in one of the booths." 

Pausing, Frank thought for an instant. "He sat there until everyone cleared out, and surveillance was turned off, then moved around to the counter." 

"The surveillance was off because they were shutting up for the night. I'm surprised the girl didn't tell the guy to get out." 

//a shy smile as she poured coffee for him// 

"No, because she was charmed by him." Frank collected his thoughts. "He's probably very good looking, and she thought he was nice. Perhaps he even offered to take her home after her shift. Anyway, she trusted him, and didn't want to tell him to leave." 

Thinking about this, Giebelhouse nodded. "Yeah. Maybe. The guy sure didn't look like a charmer when I saw him on the video." 

"So you have a picture of him?" 

"Nah. He wouldn't look at the camera, kept his face well hidden. The guy has a leather jacket on, and is all hunched over, depressed-looking. I don't know about you, but I don't find that type attractive." He looked up at Frank, who happened to be slouching, and wearing his leather jacket. "Present company excluded." 

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Frank asked, "What did hair and fibers turn up?" 

"Oh, a bit. Nothing really incriminating. Black hairs, I guess from the jacket. The only weird thing was, we found slivers of a plastic material in the wood along the side of the counter." 

//stiff leather jacketed arm dragging along at the counter// //hitting the coffee mug// 

"Those slivers... could they be from an artificial limb?" 

Giebelhouse gave him a strange look. "Yeah, they could be. Why, you know somethin' I don't?" 

"Just a thought." Frank walked off down the hall, leaving the detective to jog to catch up. "It's all so carefully planned. Clever. The killer's done this before." 

"I said it didn't feel like no random thing." 

"Completely pre-meditated. He may have been a regular customer." Both men stopped, Frank turning to Giebelhouse. "Did you check tapes from previous days?" 

Giebelhouse shook his head. "There ain't none to check. They throw them out daily." 

Frowning, the other man thought about it for a minute. "I need you to get an image of this guy off the tape." Frank pressed the tape into Giebelhouse's hand. "Send it out with a note to everyone in the Bureau, and the Department. This guy's got to have a record somewhere. Mention the possibility of an artificial limb. And then get twenty-four hour surveillance on Senator McLain." 

"The senator?" Giebelhouse echoed, taking the tape. 

"I think he may be the target here." 

Frank walked off, leaving Giebelhouse staring after him. 

* * *

"I did it," Krycek stated simply, staring blankly at the opposite wall. His superiors exchanged glances. "I killed that girl." 

"Yes," the old English man said. "But you're not finished." 

"I'm not?" Krycek frowned, looking at the man's face. "That isn't what our deal says. You said just the girl. That's all." 

"You do what you're instructed," the man replied. "It doesn't matter what I said. Now you've got someone else." He handed the younger man a file. Krycek opened it and scanned the front paper. 

"Christine McLain? You're kidding me." He looked at the man's uncompromising face, then back down. "What the hell did this guy do to you, anyway?" 

"You have no need to know." There was a pause, as the old man looked at the rest of them. "But you may want to be a bit more careful with this one. They're investigating the girl's death." 

Krycek snorted. "Who is, Mulder? Like he'd ever catch me." 

"This isn't the FBI's case. I assume you've heard of Frank Black?" 

Frowning in thought, Krycek didn't say anything for a minute. Then, "Yeah. He's a profiler. Used to be with the Bureau. They teach some of his cases at Quantico." He grinned a little. "Spooky Senior, so to speak." 

"He's investigating this case." The man watched his young companion's face contort, 

"You're fucking kidding me. He's retired. He should be, anyway." 

The man sighed. "No. He works with the Richmond Police Department. You're familiar with his record, I assume." 

"Yeah." Krycek looked at everyone in turn. "It doesn't matter. Makes no difference. I'll kill the woman tonight, before they can get surveillance into action." 

The English man smiled. "Good." 

* * *

Mulder looked at the file in his hands, and groaned. He had to write Skinner a report on their last case, when quite frankly he had less of an idea than the AD as to what had happened. To add to his grief, he'd misplaced his gun. Sometimes Mulder wondered if the universe wasn't just sitting around laughing at him. Scully was watching him. "Mulder, moaning about it to yourself isn't going to get the report written." 

"Can you write it for me?" he replied somewhat hopefully. She smiled wryly at him. 

"Tough luck, Mulder." Leafing through the memos on the desk, Scully paused, a sheet of paper in her hand. Mulder looked up at her. 

"What is it?" 

Wordlessly, she handed it to him. He looked it up and down, then raised his gaze to meet hers. "This is..." 

"Krycek?" 

He nodded. "That rat bastard. He's crawled out from his hole again." Mulder reached for the phone, and dialled the number listed on the paper, for Detective Giebelhouse. 

* * *

His cellphone rang and Giebelhouse fumbled for it, excusing himself to the police chief. He answered. "Giebelhouse." 

"Detective Giebelhouse? This is Special Agent Fox Mulder. I got your bulletin." 

Suddenly interested, Giebelhouse turned his back to the chief. "Yeah? You know the guy?" 

"I'm pretty sure of it. Alex Krycek." 

Grabbing a notepad and pen from a nearby desk, Giebelhouse noted the name. "Alex..." 

"Krycek. K-R-Y-C-E-K." 

He ripped the name off the paper, tuning back to the phone. "Agent... Mulder, does this guy have a record I could look up?" 

"He's never been caught, but you'll find some stuff on him." 

"Yeah, okay. Thanks. Listen, we'll give you a call if we need more help." Without saying a farewell, Giebelhouse hung the phone up. "Oh, boy!" He didn't talk to the police chief, heading down the hall to his office. 

Once there, he seated himself at the computer and typed in the guy's name. Records came up immediately. 
    
    
     "Alex Krycek, bn. 09/18/70 (Krasnoyarsk, Russia) Joined FBI 94, currently missing Wanted in relation to: Homicide: Cole, Augustus (1994) Homicide: Barry, Duane (1994) Murder: Mulder, Bill (1995) Murder, Scully, Melissa (1995)" 

The names and crimes went on down the page, and, realising Frank would want to see this, Giebelhouse hit 'print'. The whirr of the printer sounded, and Giebelhouse stood up and got out the cellphone. He dialled Frank's number. 

"Frank Black." 

"Frank, it's Giebelhouse. I got stuff on our guy." Giebelhouse turned around as the printer stopped, and froze when he saw the computer screen 

"Okay, what've you got?" Giebelhouse, shocked, couldn't answer, staring at the screen. "Giebelhouse?" 

"Yeah, I'm here, Frank. But the data ain't." He re-read the screen, upon which, in plain white letters, was written 'NO RECORDS FOUND. ANOTHER SEARCH?' 

"What?" 

"I got it printed, but it ain't on the computer. It's like it's all been deleted. I ain't seen this before." He grabbed up the two pages of data, as if it was suddenly going to be deleted, also. "I got a hard copy of this guy's record to show you. Where are you?" 

"Look, I'll come down there, okay? You think you've got the guy?" 

"Yeah. Hey, he was with the Bureau in 94. Think I should go get some working records for him?" 

"I'll meet you at the J. Edgar Hoover in half an hour, okay?" Neither bothered saying anything else, both closing the connection. Giebelhouse sighed. He had surveillance to organise. 

* * *

Frank sighed, replacing the phone on the hook. He'd been looking records up on the Millennium group's database, going off the image Giebelhouse had taken off the tape. After capturing the clearest possible image, the detective had e-mailed it to Frank at home. Frank sat back, hands over his face, exhaling, as the screen saver started up. The oroboro on screen stayed there, frozen, as Frank wondered what the killer's next move would be. Surveillance might take a while to set up, and until then, they just had to hope there wouldn't be anything further. 

At the sound of the door opening, Frank took his glasses off, set them down next to the computer, and turned. Catherine entered, Jordan running past her and to her father. He smiled at her, then turned to Catherine. "Catherine..." 

"Can you look after Jordan for the afternoon? I have to work, Frank. I cancelled after you didn't turn up this morning, but something else came up, that I couldn't refuse." She stayed in the doorway, looking at Frank as if to challenge him. 

He sighed. "I have this case right now, and we need to move fast..." At Jordan's fallen expression, however, he changed his mind. "Look, I'll tell Giebelhouse to deal with it by himself. Sure." 

"Thanks," Catherine said. "I'll be back at six." 

"Mommy, can't I stay the night with Daddy?" Jordan looked pleadingly at her mother, who shot Frank a questioning look. 

"Fine by me," he said, after a pause to think about it. 

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then, sweetie." Catherine leaned down, and Jordan ran to give her a hug. "Have a nice night." 

"I will!" 

Catherine left, shutting the door behind her. A minute later, Frank heard her car starting up. Jordan came back over to him, climbing on his lap. "What are you doing?" 

"Just some stuff for a case, honey. Do you want to go watch some cartoons? I need to make a phone call." She nodded, jumped down, and ran off to jump on the couch. A minute later, Frank heard the cartoons start up. He reached for the phone, and dialled the detective's cellphone number. 

"Giebelhouse." 

"Giebelhouse, it's Frank here. Here's my thing. Catherine's dropped Jordan off with me, and I won't be able to help out any more today. Sorry." 

From the other end, Giebelhouse sighed. "Look, Frank, I was going to get you to do the Bureau work, and be able to get the surveillance up tonight. You think this guy's going to do anything tonight?" 

Frank thought for a minute. "No I don't believe so." He noted he sounded a lot more confident than he actually was. 

"Okay, then I'll get around to doing it tomorrow. Hey, you want me to send this guy's record to you?" 

"Fax it through." Frank looked over to his fax machine, and pushed a whole lot of junk away from the front of it. "Bye." 

"See ya." 

Frank hung the phone up and watched the machine. After a minute, the phone made the noise for a fax call, and soon started transmitting. Ignoring it, Frank walked through into the living room, and watched Jordan for a minute. When the ads came on, she looked up at her father. "Daddy? Who did you call?" 

"Detective Giebelhouse. You know him, don't you?" 

She beamed. "I like him. He's funny." 

"Yeah, I guess he is," Frank replied, walking back to the fax machine. He tore the sheet off, and examined it. Raising an eyebrow, he saw that the guy in question, Alex Krycek, had been suspected in many cases, but not once convicted. A few of the names sounded vaguely familiar, Bill Mulder for one. Frank had heard of Bill's son, Fox. A brilliant, if possibly insane, profiler with the Bureau. He put the sheet back down and returned to the couch, sitting beside Jordan. He had the impending feeling of doom relating to this case. Something told him that he was wrong in his confidence that nothing would happen tonight. The killer knew what he was doing... he'd know that tonight would be the time to next strike. If he was going to do anything else, and Frank was virtually sure that he was. 

Jordan broke into his thoughts by giggling at whatever was on the television. Frank looked down at her, smiling fondly. She didn't know he was watching her, and he suddenly longed for a normal life, where his only encounter with crime would be reading a newspaper. He hated to bring Jordan into his almost unbearably dark life. Frank gently ran a hand through her hair, thinking. Jordan held no place in his world. She was the only thing that was sweet, light... the contrast. He needed her, But at the same time, he wished she didn't have to have anything to do with it. 

Getting up, Frank sighed. Technically, he knew better than to keep his thoughts regarding the case to himself, but he felt like pretending, for one day, one afternoon, that he had a normal relationship with his daughter. "Hey, Jordan," he called. She turned to look at him, resting her chin on the back of the sofa. "Want to see a movie?" 

"Sure!" she exclaimed, smiling. 

Jordan got off the couch and came around to her father, taking his hand. He got their coats from beside the door and the two left, walking to the nearest theatre. 

* * *

Giebelhouse went up to the desk outside Assistant Director Walter Skinner's office, and smiled at the woman there. "I need t' see AD Skinner. Can I?" 

She smiled back up at him. "He's free now. Who should I tell him is here?" 

"Oh, he ain't gonna know me. Detective Bob Giebelhouse." 

The woman related that on the intercom, then indicated the door. "Go in." 

Giebelhouse nodded, and pushed open the door, entering. There were two men in the room. One, behind the desk, was mostly bald, and wore glasses. He glanced up when the detective entered. The other man was sitting in one of the chairs, smoking a cigarette. Giebelhouse glanced at him. Then he turned back to Skinner, "Sorry, your assistant said you were free..." 

"I am." Skinner indicated a chair in front of his desk, and Giebelhouse sat in it. "What can I do for you, detective?" 

"I'm investigatin' a case where we got a suspect who happens to have been in the Bureau. I found out that he was one of your agents, so I figure you might be able to help me out." Giebelhouse took the records from the computer out of his pocket and handed it over. "Alex Krycek." 

Skinner didn't answer, glancing at the man with the cigarette. Giebelhouse spun around to look at the man, also, The cigarette man simply exhaled some smoke, and took another drag. 

"I remember Agent Krycek," Skinner started, sounding somewhat uneasy. Giebelhouse watched his face. "He was a good agent. Impeccable records through Quantico. I'm... surprised that he's involved in anything illegal." 

"Did he have a partner while here, that I could talk to?" 

Again, Skinner paused, looking towards the Cigarette Smoking guy. Then he sighed. "No. Krycek worked alone." He looked down at the sheet. "You mind if I keep this? These records are incorrect, I'm sure of it, and I'd like to look into these crimes." 

"Yeah, sure," Giebelhouse replied, sounding surprised at what Alex Krycek sounded like. He knew Frank had a copy, so there was no problem with handing over the data. "Thanks for your time." 

Skinner bade him goodbye, and Giebelhouse left. Skinner turned silently to the Smoking Man, who smiled a little. "Well done, Mr Skinner." 

"Get the hell out of my office," Skinner growled. "I may have just mislead that detective, but I don't owe you anything." 

The Smoking Man stood, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray. "I advise that you don't do anything foolish, Mr Skinner. We will be in touch." 

"I bet you will be," Skinner replied, glaring at the other man's back. The office was left silent, and Skinner was left, wondering why he'd just done that. 

* * *

Krycek glanced in the rearview mirror momentarily, studying his reflection. He was almost surprised at the hardened look his reflection had, how he looked every bit the professional assassin. He tried out a few different expressions, then smiling openly at the absurdity of his behaviour. 

Outside, the sky was rapidly darkening. He'd been in the same position for three hours, watching Senator Steven McLain's house for movement. Someone was home, although he wasn't quite sure whom. Probably servants. 

The full moon had risen, and beams were streaking through the night mists. A few were dancing around the car's interior, playing across his legs at times, across the upholstery, creating strange, moving shadows. Krycek was caught up in watching them for a while, and almost missed a movement out on the street. 

Stealthily, he turned his face to watch the people. A couple, the man who he recognised as the Senator. The woman had her back to him, but was wearing a long black dress, with shoestring straps. Her long, black hair, cascaded down her back. Silently, Krycek checked the magazine, and replaced his gun - check that, Mulder's gun—in the hip holster. He opened the door, and closed it just as silently, getting out onto the pavement. 

The night was still, and sounds carried. On one hand, that was good, because he could hear the two talking. He heard fragments of conversation: 'Chrissy' (By that he assumed the woman was Christine, the Senator's wife), 'Night', 'Brooke', 'Tragic'... and others. However, the bad side to sounds carrying was to be the gunshot. Thinking about it, Krycek took out the silencer, and slipped it onto the gun. He stayed, hidden in shadows on the other side of the street, watching, until the two embraced. The senator went inside the house, and the woman to the Mercedes parked on Krycek's side of the street. He jumped behind his car, wondering what was going on. After a minute of watching the woman struggle with the lock—apparently drunk—he concluded that she had to be dashing out to the shops for a late night purchase. He walked up behind her, and pressed the muzzle of the gun to the nape of her neck. "Don't move, don't scream, don't make a fucking noise." 

A whimper came from the woman, and he drew back a little. "Step back from the car." She did as told, but suddenly wheeled around and slashed at him with long fingernails. His cheeks instantly stung, and he moved the gun to his prosthetic, grabbing her by the wrist. Glad he had gloves on, Krycek deftly snapped her hand around, being rewarded by a sickening crack. Her wrist broken, the woman looked at it momentarily, tears springing to her bloodshot eyes. With her good hand, she grabbed at Krycek's hair, but he grabbed the other wrist. She looked him boldly in the eyes, and he had to admire her confidence, when surely she knew she was about to die. 

He dropped her hand, simultaneously bringing the gun up to point at her face, suddenly grateful that those Russian fuckwits had thought to leave some nerve endings in his arm. With his right hand, he reached into his jacket pocket, bringing out a large knife. The woman's eyes widened. In one deft movement, he brought the gun back down to his side, and brought the knife up to slit across her throat. The woman gasped for breath, good hand going up to press against her throat, as if she could halt the flow of blood. 

Krycek watched, nose turned up, as she fell to her knees at his feet. Unable to resist, he brought one black boot sharply up into her abdomen. She keeled over completely, fully on the ground. Krycek bent down and drove the knife through her back, and her squirming stopped. Paralysed, she couldn't do anything but wait for her assailant to finish the job. Her face was on the side, and her eyes wildly looked about, face contorted in pain as she looked at Krycek. Deciding she had suffered enough, Krycek drove the knife through her temple. The woman's eyes widened, then went blank, expression changing to the plain stare of the deceased. 

But he knew the job was not over. Using one hand, Krycek turned her over, careful to only touch the material of her dress. Using the hilt of his knife, he turned her left hand, with the broken wrist, over. Shit. Under her fingernails was flesh, assumably from his cheeks. Unwilling to spend the time cutting her fingernails off, he knew somehow he had to get rid of his flesh from her. 

Grasping his knife, he sliced through the fingers, all five on her left hand, leaving the hand bare and featureless. He turned the right hand to be palm-up, and did the same thing. Taking a small plastic bag out of his jacket pocket, he shoved them in, and slid the bag back in the pocket. It'd make a nice present for the consortium. 

Krycek stood up, and looked at the body. He felt no remorse. A black fabric item caught his eye. Her purse. Feeling once again grateful for the glove, he emptied the contents onto the street. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary. A note from 'Steve'. Lipstick. Tampons. Credit Cards. Curious, he picked them up, looking at the picture on the top one. She'd been younger then, her hair shorter. But it was the name on the card that made him take notice. 'Harriot Roberts'. He froze. 

The wrong woman. 

He'd just killed the wrong woman. 

Close to panic, Krycek looked towards the house, half -expecting the senator to emerge. Then a strange calmness took him over, and he smiled a little. Cruelly. He had a plan. If that wasn't Mrs. Senator McLain, then she had to be inside the house. 

Slowly, Krycek ran through his plan, realising he knew what to do. Slipping the knife back into his belt, he walked calmly over the street, and slipped behind a tree. Krycek took the silencer off the gun and held it in his prosthetic. Holding his gun at an angle as to miss all the branches, he fired into the air. 

After the gunshot, there was silence, and Krycek smiled in anticipation, putting the silencer back on the gun, before it all went to hell. Dogs barked, there were doors slamming, and people screaming. The front door to the senator's house was flung open, the security light came on, and he ran onto the lawn, clad only in a fluffy blue bathrobe. Seeing the figure on the road across the street, he broke into a sprint. Once at the body, he fell to his knees, sobbing. Krycek took his chance and slipped inside the house. By now it was late at night, possibly the morning. There were no clocks around to tell, and he wasn't wearing a watch. 

Before him, a staircase lead upstairs, and on a tangent, Krycek crept up it, steps falling silently. Once up there, he snuck along the hall and peeked into a room. 

A woman, elegant in her nakedness, was at the head of the bed, face conveying absolute terror. Krycek wondered if her expression would be worse if she knew what danger was standing outside her bedroom door. 

Cocking his gun, he stepped inside the room. She screamed, and he impulsively fired, cutting her scream off in the middle. He stopped momentarily to admire the fact that he'd hit perfectly in the middle of her head. Krycek chuckled and went to the window. 

It opened up onto the sprawling backyard, with a pool and many shrubs. Down the wall was a trellis, with a creeper growing up it. He drew back, sticking his knife into the bed. Easily, Krycek swung his legs over the windowsill, and swung around to face the wall. 

It took him a while to climb down, but he managed it, and walked around the side of the house to watch the commotion on the street. He grinned, realising getting away wasn't going to be a problem. Casually, he walked across the street. No one noticed, caught up in sobbing over the woman's body. He climbed into the car, started it up and pulled away. 

At the sound of the car engine, Steven McLain, tears running down his face, looked up. The nondescript black car pulled away, and he shouted "Who was that? Was that him? Was that him who did this?" His neighbour stood up, stroking his arm. Steven hardly noticed, screaming after the car. "You bastard! Get out of my life!" He broke down in his neighbour's arms, sobbing. 

"What was the number plate? Oh God, get the plate!" 

Someone else voice shaking, replied, "The car had no plates... oh, God! What is this?" 

A shaken neighbourhood, the people stayed there for hours, during which Steven McLain had no idea his wife was also past. 

* * *

The phone rang. Frank sat bolt upright in his bead, eyes going to the digital clock at his bedside. Seven-twelve. Tiredly, he groped for the phone. "Giebelhouse, if this is going to become a habit..." 

There was no answer, only breathing on the other end of the phone. "Giebelhouse?" 

Still, the other person didn't speak. Frank frowned. "Who _is_ this?" 

Then, in a low voice, almost a growl, the person said, "You have a vulnerable wife and child. Just like he did." 

Frank went to answer, but found himself about to address the dialtone. Shaken, he replaced the receiver and got out of bed. Quickly, he went down to Jordan's room, stopping in the doorway. He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw her curled up under the blankets, curls strewn over the pillow. 

Frank was just about to return to bed, when the phone rang. 

He left it for five rings, then picked up. "Yeah?" 

"Frank, it's Giebelhouse." 

"Giebelhouse. I hardly want to ask. What is it?" 

"His wife and toygirl. Both dead. The wife in her bed, the girl on the street. You'd better get here." 

Frank stared blankly at the wall. 'You have a vulnerable wife and child...' "Look, I have Jordan here right now. I don't know if I can..." 

There was a sigh from the other end of the phone. "Frank, why don't you drop her with Catherine? You gotta get down here. And I've got some interestin' stuff for ya." 

"Where are you?" Frank asked, giving in. 

"The senator's house. How long you want?" 

"I'll be there in half an hour." 

The two hung up, and Frank, not feeling at all happy about it, went in to wake Jordan up. 

* * *

"Catherine!" Frank called, pounding on the door. No answer. "Catherine!" 

Suddenly, just as his hand was hovering above it, the door opened inwardly, Catherine appearing in it. "Frank?" 

He gave his ex-wife Jordan's hand, the little girl going to her mother and standing at her side. Frank sighed. "I'm sorry. I have to leave Jordan here, now. I've got to get to a scene." Catherine opened her mouth to respond, probably angrily, so he went on, "Two people were killed last night, because I was spending time with my daughter instead of doing my job. Let me do this. Please." 

She studied his face for a minute, then simply said, "Okay." Turning to Jordan, she continued, "Come on, sweetie, you can go back to bed." And shut the door in Frank's face. 

Realising that was his cue to leave, Frank sighed, turned around, and walked back to the Jeep. He left for the Senator's house. 

* * *

"All the neighbours say the same thing. They heard a gunshot and came out to find her. But the girl ain't been shot. She was knifed. The senator's wife was shot, and let me tell you, it ain't a pretty sight." Giebelhouse indicated the woman lying on her back, the forensic photographer snapping away. "She was apparently found like that, but we ain't getting any prints. The whole neighbourhood was out here last night." 

The photographer stood up, nodding to the two men. He headed inside. Frank knelt down next to the body, and closed his eyes. 

//flash of black hair as she whirled around// //lashing out with fingernails// //sprawled prone on the ground, unable to move// //slicing fingers off one-by-one// 

He broke out of it, looking at the body. "This wasn't the position she was in when she died, which explains..." Frank motioned to the girl's knees. "The torn fabric over her knees." He pulled a pair of surgical gloves from his pockets, put them on, and leaned over to see her neck, moving the black hair aside from the neck. There was a deep gash, which had sliced into her throat and bled a lot. "This was the first injury. She then fell to her knees, and probably to the ground." Frank turned her over, and unzipped the back of the dress, revealing a deep stab wound. "He stabbed her in the back, effectively paralysing her." He reached up to examine her temple. "And then, finally, to kill her, he stabbed her through the temple." 

Giebelhouse had been listening intently, but was frowning. "Frank, that's an awful lot o' fuss considering the first murder was just a shootin'. You sure this is the same guy?" 

Frank stood up, stepping away from the body and turning to the detective. "You think it's a coincidence that the Senator's daughter, girlfriend and wife are all killed within thirty hours?" 

"You ain't seen the wife, yet. She was shot. Although not like the daughter." 

"I think it's the same guy. I think he had planned to shoot her, but something went wrong. She fought back, perhaps scratching him up with her fingernails." 

Giebelhouse consulted his sheet. "She had long fingernails." 

Frank nodded, then continued. "She had his flesh under her fingernails, so he cuts her fingers off, with the same knife he killed her with." 

"What I had to tell you about this Krycek guy... he's not our man. I checked up with his AD at the Bureau, who says he was basically the perfect agent. Anyway, this guy says the records must be incorrect, that he'd never kill anyone." Giebelhouse shrugged. "I guess Mulder must've been mistaken." 

Frank frowned. "I'm not so sure. Who else could it be?" 

"Well, want to know what I think? I say Senator M'clean ain't so clean after all." Giebelhouse gave the home a pointed look. 

"You think Steven McLain killed his daughter, wife, and girlfriend?" Frank asked incredulously. 

"Yeah. I say the other night, Daddy dearest went to help his child shut up shop. When she was finished..." Giebelhouse made his right hand into a gun, pressing the index finger to Frank's forehead. "Bang. Bye bye, baby. Then last night, he realises the girlfriend suspects something. So he does her in. When the neighbourhood comes out to be all sorry and sympathetic, he realises his wife'll know that he offed the little chick, so he goes in and shoots her." 

"A twisted variation of Munchausen's by proxy?" Frank shook his head. "What about the way the shot was fired before everyone came out?" 

"Maybe he shot wifey before coming out for sympathy, or fired a shot into the air. Either way, it works." Giebelhouse looked at Frank, who was thinking about it. 

"I'm sorry, but I seriously doubt it. I think you're looking too hard. It's the same guy, and I still believe it's Alex Krycek." 

"How would Agent Mulder know, anyway? After all, your theory doesn't have a constant MO." 

"Neither does yours," Frank pointed out. Giebelhouse frowned irritably. 

"That's the brilliance of it. He's making it appear like they're different murders, by a terrible coincidence all relating to him." 

Frank took the folder from Giebelhouse. "Can I see this?" He scanned it, then suddenly looked up. "The neighbours and the senator all saw a car leaving after the murders, and you didn't think to mention it? How does this fit with your theory?" 

Giebelhouse thought about that. "Maybe it was just someone leaving the neighbourhood.." 

"Long shot. I'm sorry, Giebelhouse, I just think you're looking too hard, seeing things that aren't there. Did you get a statement from Senator McLain?" 

"Yeah. He says he came out of the house when he heard the gunshot. That's what I don't get. Everyone came out when the gun went off, but this girl don't have no gunshot wound. No one heard a second shot, but the wife was killed with a gun. I think the guy shot his wife, then came out to the street." 

"Giebelhouse!" Frank exclaimed. "Your theory about the death has changed in two minutes." 

"I know, but how do you explain the shot?" 

On a whim, Frank went over to stand under a large tree on the McLains' front lawn. He closed his eyes. 

//removing the silencer// //completely calm// //firing into the night// //watching everyone run out onto the street// //slipping silencer back on// 

"Giebelhouse!" Frank called. Giebelhouse came over to where Frank was standing, under the tree. "He fired into the night to get everyone on the street. Then he put the silencer back on his gun, and went inside to shoot the wife." 

"You still think it's that Krycek guy, don't you?" 

"The fact he has impeccable records doesn't make a difference. Everyone always says about serial killers, murderers... 'He was so quiet, such a good boy...'... I have no reason to doubt that this is Krycek." Frank sighed. "Can you get Agent Mulder down here? Not only does he know our main suspect, unlike us, he'd also be a great help to the case." 

"I'll call him." Giebelhouse left to make the call, and Frank headed inside, needing to see the wife's body. 

* * *

"Mulder," Mulder swivelled his chair around as he held the receiver to his ear, effectively entangling himself in the cord. 

"Agent Mulder, this is Detective Giebelhouse." 

Mulder stopped in his spinning, concentrating on the phone call. "Detective... I heard about last night's murders. You caught Krycek yet?" 

"That's who I'm calling about. How do you know about him?" 

Mulder leaned back slightly-too-far in the chair, almost toppling over. "He was my partner when he was in the Bureau, but betrayed me, working for a higher-up part of our government. He was acting according to a hidden agenda, one that I had no part in. After disappearing for a while, he reappeared to kill my father, and possibly help in the assassination of my partner's sister. Krycek betrayed the men he was working for, selling government secrets. Then he got in with a bunch of militiamen, and wound up taking me to Russia and getting me infected with an alien virus. That may sound crazy, but... the last time I saw him, I'd busted us out of the Russian prison camp, and he jumped off the back of the truck." 

Giebelhouse didn't reply for a minute, stuck on the fact they were partners in the FBI. "Say again? You were partners in the Bureau?" 

"Yeah. Why?" 

"I was told he worked alone, and was the perfect agent. That he'd never be involved in anything illegal." 

Not believing his ears, Mulder chuckled incredulously. "You're crazy. Who told you that?" 

"AD Skinner." 

Mulder stood up, then, realising he was still entangled in the phone cord, abruptly sat back down. "AD Skinner? You're mistaken. Skinner hates the rat." 

Giebelhouse didn't say anything for a minute. Then, "Agent Mulder, as a favour, could you come down and help us with the case? We figure you know Krycek better'n us, and we could use some help." 

"Sure. I'm in between cases at the moment, and my partner can finish off the paperwork." At that statement, Scully, for the first time in the conversation, looked up, fixing him with a 'yeah, you'll be lucky' glare. He continued, "Where are you?" 

"Senator McLain's house. You know?" 

"I'll be there right away." Mulder hung up the phone, and stepped out of the phone cord. He looked at Scully. "I've got to go help out on a case. See ya." 

Before Scully could call, "Mulder..." he was out the door, and had slammed the door behind him. She sighed. 

* * *

Mulder felt a hand on his arm, and he looked around. The man's uncompromising face clearly told him he had no right to be at the scene. Mulder took out his badge. "Agent Mulder. FBI." 

"I wasn't aware the FBI had been called in on this case," the guy said suspiciously. 

"Detective Giebelhouse asked me. Is he around?" 

"Agent Mulder?" Mulder and the other man turned at once, to see another man coming towards them. He shook Mulder's hand. "Agent Mulder, I'm Bob Giebelhouse." He nodded to the guy who was watching them strangely, and he waked off. "We got a real ugly case. We got two bodies, one the guy's toygirl, the other the guy's wife. The girl's body's over here." Giebelhouse and Mulder walked over to the partitioned off area, ducking under the tape. Mulder took the file from the other man, opening it to read. After a while, he looked up. 

"Who else is working on the case?" 

"Frank Black. And you, I guess." Mulder nodded, looking down at the woman's body. 

"How was she killed?" 

"Eventually, a knife through the temple. But there are a whole lot of injuries." At the sound of someone coming under the tape, Giebelhouse turned. Frank came over to stand beside the two of them. 

Mulder took his badge out. "Agent Mulder, FBI. I assume you're Frank Black?" 

Frank shook his hand. "Thanks for coming in, Agent Mulder. What do you think?" 

Mulder, putting his gloves on, bent down and turned the body over. "It's strange. This doesn't seem like something Krycek'd do. He's more the wham, bang, thank you ma'am sort. A gunshot and he's gone. This is too elaborate for him, in my opinion." 

"Something went wrong. He was intending to just shoot her, but she fought back. Do you think he'd have the ability to do all this?" 

Nodding, Mulder replied, "I think he does. He's quite intelligent, remembering he's just an assassin. I wouldn't have thought it of him to go to so much trouble just for one person, but if, as you said, something went wrong, he would." 

Frank turned to Giebelhouse. "This murder was a mistake. This girl wasn't meant to die." 

The detective gave him a strange glance. "What are you talking about?" 

"The target was the wife. Which is why the contents of her purse are on the ground here, credit cards on top. He thought this was Christine McLain, but was wrong, and only discovered so when everything was done. This woman needn't have died." He turned to Mulder, who was watching him. 

"And then, because he didn't want to have failed what he came to do, he went inside and shot the wife. You say here a shot was fired before everyone came out. Have you considered the possibility that he fired a warning shot to get everyone out of the houses, then used a silencer for the wife?" 

"I came to that conclusion, yes. Agent Mulder, did you know Krycek had an artificial limb?" 

"I didn't know that for sure, but I suspected he might have. When we were in Russia, I wound up at the house of some people, who, to protect me from some tests, offered to amputate my left arm. I almost killed myself declining, but I think Krycek might have lucked out." He shrugged. "It doesn't surprise me." 

"Why don't you tell us everything you know about him?" Frank suggested. 

* * *

"That's it. I'm finished. No more." Krycek glared at the two men facing him, the old English guy and the Morley man. "It's too fucking much." 

"You did well, Alex," the man with the cigarette said. "There are only two more." 

"Get another fucking fool who's willing," Krycek snarled. "What do these two have to do with the senator, anyway?" He motioned to the file at his feet, that he'd thrown there after getting the gist of it. "One's a clinical social worker, and the other a whore. Want to give me a clue?" 

"You don't need to know." The English man said, looking Krycek up and down. "We're distracting them away from you. Mulder has become involved, and they will suspect something. This way, the investigation will change." 

The Morley man took over, "We have someone to work with you, and he has already started. He's done this sort of thing before. All you will need to do is go along, and ensure he does the job adequately." 

Krycek watched him for a minute, then nodded simply. "Fine. But after that..." 

The two men exchanged glances, looking slightly amused. The Morley man smiled at his young subordinate. "Don't worry. These will be the last two." 

After a minute, the English man walked to the door, calling out it, "Paul... you can come in, now." 

Krycek watched as a man came through the door. He was fairly tall—probably only a couple of inches shorter than himself, and blond. Very blond. His hair hung down onto his shoulders, and he had sharp features. Krycek chuckled. "You're telling me this jerk's an assassin?" 

Paul walked up to Krycek, and grabbed him by the left wrist, never taking his eyes away from the other man's. Without warning, he jerked the wrist towards him and upwards. 

"Aw, fuck!" Krycek exclaimed, moving forward to compensate. Paul, his face merely inches away from Krycek's, smiled coldly. 

"Hurting?" 

Knowing just how, the blond man twisted the arm from the elbow, and Krycek swore repeatedly as the prosthesis grated on the raw nerve endings. The two older men watched as they grappled territorially with each other. Leaning towards his left, Krycek brought a knee up sharply into Paul's groin. It worked, the blond man dropped the arm, cringing back. Krycek took his chance and casually delivered a hard punch to the other man's throat. Paul finally stood back, hands up. Krycek grinned. 

"Hurting?" 

He was rewarded with a dark glare. The Morley man, after exhaling, spoke, "You two will work well together." 

Glowering at each other, the two walked out of the room. 

* * *

Several hours later, Frank finally got a break, and called Catherine. 

"Catherine, it's Frank. Are you and Jordan okay?" 

"Yes, why?" 

He sighed in relief. "It's just this case, spooking me out. I'm sorry about this morning. Listen, I'll take the two of you out to dinner tonight." 

For a minute, Catherine didn't reply. Then, slowly, "Okay. We'll be at your house by six-thirty." She sighed. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine. I'll see you then." Frank put his phone back in his pocket, and looked around. When he saw Giebelhouse, he went up to the man. "Look, Giebelhouse, I'm heading home now. There's not much left for me to do." 

Giebelhouse nodded. "I'll call if anythin' comes up, Frank." 

* * *

Later, Frank paced aimlessly around his living room. Without warning, the phone rang. He answered it. 

"Frank, this is Melinda Taylor, from forensics. We ran tests on the bullet from the other night, and the one from last night. The two match. More news is that we discovered which agent's gun the bullets are from." 

"Which Agent?" 

"Agent Fox Mulder of the X-files division." She took a breath. "I was told by his partner that his gun was lost, but I found it in his desk." 

Frank didn't answer for a minute, slightly stunned. "Are you sure?" 

"Completely, Mr Black." 

"Thank you. I'll call if I need anything further." 

Hanging up the phone, Frank sighed. Things just got a whole lot more complicated. 

* * *

"Have a beer," Paul stated to Krycek, thrusting a paper cup at him. Krycek had to take his hand off the wheel to push it back. A little spilt on the gearshift between them, and Paul swore. "You fucking idiot! Clumsy fool." 

"Oh, fuck you, Paul." Krycek stopped the car outside the brothel. "Go. Kill her. Get it done." 

Paul took on a leering expression. "I think I'll have some fun, first." 

"You're a fucking pervert," Krycek hissed, disgusted. "All that's needed is one gunshot. You don't need to get your kicks first." 

"Just because you're queer," Paul snapped back. "Maybe I get off on fucking women. Unlike someone else in this car." 

Apparently deciding to ignore this, Krycek didn't reply, and Paul got out of the car, carrying the beer. Before he walked into the brothel, Krycek called out the window, "Hey, Paul, you know about cars, right?" The blond man nodded. 

"Most real men do." He smiled condescendingly, and walked back down to the car. "What's the problem with the car?" 

From inside the car, Krycek shrugged innocently. When Paul bent down to look in the hood, the younger man started the car and went straight into his companion. The blond man jumped up immediately, although not without a limp. "You fucking freak! You stupid little commie! What the hell is your problem?" 

"You are," Krycek called back to him. "Now get the fucking job done." 

Frowning at him, Paul walked into the building. Watching the other man go in, Krycek found himself looking at a different image, in his mind's eye. The same scene, in black and white. A man was walking into the building, although Krycek didn't know who he was. The scene switched into the building's interior, where a dark-haired woman was stroking the man's arm seductively. Krycek recognised her, from photos. His mother. 

Snapping out of it, Krycek blinked. What the hell was that? 

From inside, after ten or twenty minutes, he heard a gunshot, and, soon after, Paul came out of the building. He went around to the driver's side and pulled Krycek out of the car. Shoving him on the ground, Paul gunned the motor and left the other man there. 

Muttering a curse directed at his supposed partner, Krycek set off at a jog down the road, looking for a suitable car. His run lead him onto a residential street, with many cars. 

A red Jeep caught his eye, and on closer inspection, he found it to have the keys in the ignition. Smiling, Krycek hopped in and started the car, pulling out of the driveway, and heading to where he knew Paul was going. 

* * *

"Giebelhouse, the murder weapon has been proved as Agent Mulder's gun. You have grounds on which to arrest him. Do so." Frank paused, allowing the detective a chance to speak. 

"Look, Frank, that's all good and well, but he left soon after you. I don't know where to find him." 

There was the sound of a motor starting up, and Frank went to the window, looking out. His car was pulling out of the driveway. Dropping the phone, Frank ran outside, calling, "Hey!" 

Nothing happened, the car speeding up as it went down the street. Frank cringed as the car's tyres squealed, the Jeep flying around the corner. He ran back inside, grabbing up the phone. "Giebelhouse, I'll call you back, okay?" 

"Yeah, sure, but-" 

Frank cut the detective off, hanging the phone up. As soon as the receiver was on the hook, it rang. He picked it up. 

"Frank!" It was Catherine, and she sounded frantic. "You've got to help. I'm being followed, I swear." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes! I picked Jordan up from school, and this guy pulled out behind us, and has been behind us since. I don't know what to do!" 

"I can't come help you. Someone's just taken the Jeep. Can you possibly drive here?" Frank was frowning in concern into the phone. "Do you recognise the person behind you?" 

"No! Oh, he's right on my bumper... Frank!" 

Suddenly, Catherine's voice was cut off by static, and then nothing. "Catherine..." Frank frowned when there was no answer. "Catherine!" 

He opened another line and dialled Giebelhouse's number. "Giebelhouse! I need you to track Catherine's car phone. Now. Call me back." 

Switching over to the other line, Frank went on, "Catherine! Where are you?" 

On the line, he heard the car open and shut, after a pause. He furrowed his brow, wondering what could be happening on the other end. The morning's phone call echoed in his mind, and he frantically wondered if Catherine... and Jordan... were all right. The distinctive sound of another call came onto the line, and Frank changed over to talk to Giebelhouse. 

* * *

Krycek pulled the red Jeep up behind the crashed blue van. Momentarily, after getting out, he looked the car over, finding a girl in the passenger seat, but no one else. His viewpoint changed and he looked in front of the car. Paul was standing with his gun in front of him, execution-style, pointed at a woman's head. Instantly, Krycek also drew his gun, and pointed it at the other man. "Paul, you fucker. Drop the gun." 

The blond man turned, and smiled a little bitterly. "Yeah? What makes you think you can pull that trigger before I pull mine?" 

The woman looked over at Krycek, slightly desperate look on her face. He momentarily turned to her, then back at Paul. Paul pulled the woman to her feet, putting his right arm around her waist. His left hand held the gun to her ribs, and his right slipped up her shirt. Krycek's expression hardened. 

"Maybe you'd like me to kill the girl instead?" Paul grinned cruelly, feeling up the woman's torso. "And rape this one?" 

"You leave my daughter alone," the woman said, speaking for the first time. 

Paul, interested, turned to her. "You want us to leave her alone? Nice try. Krycek, get her out of the car." 

The woman turned to Krycek, face pleading. He turned to Paul. "Fuck you, man. I'm no pedophile." He still held the gun pointed at the other man. "Drop your fucking gun. We're leaving them alone." 

"Oh yeah?" Krycek could see Paul's hand, as it moved up to fondle the woman's breasts. "I was told you were good at this sort of thing. Not fucking females, of course. Which is why I'll have my way with this pretty thing." 

"Paul, you are one sick fuck. What makes you think I didn't call the police from the phone in the car?" 

"'Cause you're in this as deep as me, man." Paul's face betrayed his voice, telling he was worried. 

"I'm not the one holding an innocent woman at gunpoint. I think they'd be a bit softer on me." 

"Yeah, cops tend to be nicer to cripples." Paul pulled the woman right in front of him, hand slipping down her skirt. "However, I'm shooting this damn broad like I'm supposed to. And you're gonna do nothin' about it." 

Krycek wasn't able to explain it, but he had a feeling they shouldn't shoot the woman. "Fuck you. Drop her. Now." 

Paul moved his hand around underneath the thin material of the woman's skirt. "What's your problem? You had no trouble with the three you shot." 

Krycek kept his gun up, scowling. The two were in their face-off when a voice from behind them called, "Catherine!" 

* * *

Frank tried to slow his breathing. Luckily, Giebelhouse had located Catherine's car as being only a few blocks from his home, and Frank had been able to run there. To find his wife with a blond man's hand down her skirt, and a gun to her head. A gun was being pointed at the man, by another man wearing a leather jacket. Frank stepped forward, looking at Catherine. Her face conveyed absolute terror, and as Frank watched, the blond's eyes widened, recognising the profiler. 

Everything seemed to happen at once. A gun sounded, and to Frank's horror, Catherine dropped to the ground, bullet through the head. Another shot sounded, and the blond fell beside his victim, dead. The man with the leather jacket looked around, frantic expression on his face when he saw Frank. 

* * *

Recognising the man from his earlier vision, Krycek panicked. He tucked his gun into his hip holster, turned on his heel, and sprinted. Looking behind him, he saw the man had followed suit, and was gaining on him. For a guy who looked that old, he could run surprisingly fast. Caught up in his thoughts, Krycek tripped on a uneven patch of pavement, and wound up sprawled on the ground. He suddenly was yanked up by the collar of his jacket, and spun around to face his pursuer. The profiler. Frank Black. 

* * *

Frank grasped the younger man's left arm, surprised at how hard it felt beneath his hand. He looked into the man's eyes, and startled at the look in them, of total surprise. Looking nervous, he pulled his arm away and sprinted off. Frank watched him go, not pursuing him. He'd just realised who that was. Alex Krycek. 

Frank turned around and ran back to the two bodies. Kneeling down, he took Catherine in his arms, not hearing anything, as the far-away sirens began their shrill wails. 

He didn't stir until a man tapped him on the shoulder. "Sir? Sir, we have to take her." 

In a voice he didn't recognise as his own, Frank replied, "You're not taking her away from me." 

On the radio in the ambulance, a paramedic related the stats. "We've got two DOAs coming in. Looks like a shootout. One with a bullet wound, the other without." 

Still, Frank refused to let Catherine go. Slowly, he began sobbing into her hair, holding her close, unwilling to accept. Eventually, the man touched his shoulder again. "Sir, there's a little girl in the blue van. Do you know her?" 

Finally, Frank looked up. In a hollow voice, he said, "She's my daughter. Can I see her?" 

"We have to take this woman in the ambulance. You go look after your little girl. That's what we need you to do right now, okay?" 

Numbly, Frank nodded, laying Catherine on the ground, and taking his last look at her. Tears starting to slip down his cheeks, he turned his back on the medics swarming around her, and went to the car. 

The passenger side was all smashed in, and Frank had to open the driver's side. He half-climbed in, and reached over to Jordan. She hastily unbuckled her seatbelt, and made her way into her father's arms. 

He picked her up, and, without saying anything, took her to the Jeep, buckling her in. The two drove off, away from Catherine, away from everything. 

* * *

Krycek was still running, by now down a commercialised street. He slowed his pace to a brisk walk, surriptitiously glancing around for anyone watching him. He'd discarded his gun long ago, and was now just searching for a place to crash. Without knowing why, he paused outside a darkened alley, and was immediately grasped by the back of his jacket. The person with a hold on him, yanked Krycek into the alley and threw him on the ground. 

The next thing Krycek knew, Mulder had his foot on his chest, and was pointing a gun at his head. 

"You son of a bitch. What the hell are you up to?" 

As casually as he could appear with Mulder's foot on him, Krycek replied, "Oh, you know, nothing much." 

Mulder audibly took the safety off his gun. "Been killing more people like you killed my father, huh, Krycek?" 

"Mulder, you _wound_ me with your clever insults. I haven't done anything." 

"You rat bastard, we had you on tape, going into the diner." 

"Gee, last time I checked, that wasn't against the law, you know." Krycek grinned up at Mulder, who removed his foot, throwing his entire body on top of the other man's. Krycek suddenly had a problem thinking... he supposed it was because all his blood had rushed to his groin. "What the hell are you doing?" 

"I am going to kill you, you fucking freak. Right here, right now." 

"God, you're smart. Not only will you be killing me with the weapon used for the other murders, your prints will be all over me. Smart move, baby." 

"Don't call me baby." 

"Oh, 'honey' is better?" 

"Fuck you." 

"If you insist..." Krycek smiled at his ex-partner. Mulder pistol whipped him across the face, then got up, training the gun on Krycek's forehead. 

Slightly worried, Krycek looked up at Mulder. The man was actually serious about it. 

Just as suddenly as it had all begun, Mulder stopped. He dropped the gun, and looked at Krycek. He sighed. "Get out of here." 

"What?" 

"I said get the fuck out of here. I don't want to see you." 

Knowing better than to push his luck, Krycek jumped up and ran out of the alley, and away from Mulder. 

Wondering why he'd just done that, Mulder stared at the brick wall side. Why? 

The End

* * *

RATING: Probably an R for language, a large dose of violence, and basically being weird.   
SUMMARY: While investigating a case, Frank Black finds himself too close for comfort to the main suspect.   
DISCLAIMER: I did not create Millennium, nor X-Files, and so I don't own any of the characters. Okay, I lie. I own Paul (but not Lucy Butler). I own the Senator, and his family. I own the forensics woman. Not many others. I don't even own the quotes at the beginnings of each part...   
FEEDBACK: I've worked on this for long enough, damnit! [email removed] or [email removed]   
SPOILERS: Aww, hell. There are a fair whack of them.   
Millennium: Sanctuary   
Powers, Principalities, Thrones and Dominions   
Paper Dove   
The Beginning and the End   
Midnight of the Century   
The X-Files: Sleepless   
Duane Barry   
Ascension   
Anasazi   
The Blessing Way   
Paperclip   
Piper Maru   
Apocrypha   
Tunguska   
Terma   
I think that's all. But of course, there are probably more, minor ones.. especially for Millennium.   
EXPLANATION: This is the first fic in my Millennium/X-Files alternate universe. You might have read a fic later on in the universe, but it'll probably make more sense if you read this one.   
This majorly disregards Millennium canon. Okay, maybe not majorly. It's kind of a psychadelic season two. For X-Files, people are acting pretty non-canon like, also. For example, Skinner. I don't know why he's doing what he is, because he's not mine, he belongs to Chris Carter, remember?   
It's preferable to have a working knowledge of Millennium, to read this fic. It's probably possible to get by, just with a basic knowledge of the characters, but I do delve into the "angels" side of MM a bit. Please don't get lost.   
TIMELINE: For X-Files, this is very soon after "Terma". Obviously. Krycek says so. ;) For Millennium, it's an alternate season two... after Midnight of the Century, but set in Virginia as opposed to Seattle.   
NOTE: Beta-like actions by Twilight and Frankie for most of it. Okay, so Twig didn't exactly _beta_ it, but she read it. Sue's currently beta-ing it, but she's going to LA, so I'm posting before total beta is finished. Obviously, mistakes are my bad.   
Finally, this is for Chantelle, whose idea it was that this changed from a simple crossover to my first universe fic.   
---


	2. Part II: Things Which Must Be Hereafter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While investigating a case, Frank Black finds himself too close for comfort to the main suspect

  
**Too Close II**

Things Which Must Be Hereafter  
by Fleur 

  
_"After this, I looked, and behold, a door was opened in heaven: and the first voice which I heard was as it were of a trumpet talking with me; which said, Come up hither, and I will shew thee things which must be hereafter."_

Revelation 4:1 

**One Week Later**

Frank stared blankly ahead. He'd been asked the same questions over and over, and his answers hadn't changed. "I saw a blond man holding a gun to my wife's head. A man in a leather jacket was aiming a gun at the first man's head." 

"And you say this man was..." A pause as the police lieutenant checked his paper. "Alex Krycek?" 

"I think so. I'm not completely sure, but that's who I recognised him as. Look, my answers aren't going to change according to how many times you ask me the questions." 

"We just need to make sure of that, Mr Black." The lieutenant stood up. "You may go now. We'll call you if we have any further questions." 

"Thank you," Frank said, also standing up. He walked out the door and down the hall, until Giebelhouse motioned to him from his office. Frank went inside. 

"Frank, look, we got nothin' on Catherine's death. 'Cept the weapon used. Nine-millimetre Sig Sauer. Very similar to the one used to shoot her assassin." 

"It's connected to the McLain killings, Giebelhouse. I know it. Catherine and Jordan were threatened, and they killed her. So I don't think it was Krycek with the original murders." Frank sighed. "What about the prostitute?" 

"We ain't doin' nothing. She was shot with a different weapon, in a different place, with no apparent connection. There's nothing to go on." Giebelhouse sighed. "We're letting it go." 

"You can't," Frank stated. "There's something to go on. I know she was shot by the same man as my wife." 

"How do you know that?" The detective sighed. "You have another one of those visions?" 

"Something like that. I'm going to investigate it, and if you don't want to help me... well, that's your decision." Frank turned, and walked out the door. 

"Frank," Giebelhouse called, stopping the other man. Frank turned around. "I'll help investigate. If you think there's something to it, I'll help ya." 

"Thanks," Frank replied gratefully. Giebelhouse retrieved his coat, and the two walked out the door. 

* * *

Frank and Giebelhouse walked through the door, into the brothel. No one was there... unsurprisingly, since the girl had been killed, and it was the middle of the day. Giebelhouse handed Frank the file on the murder. Frank flipped through it slowly, committing facts to memory. Then, ignoring Giebelhouse, on a hunch, Frank walked up the narrow stairs to the bedrooms. 

The house had seen better days. The walls had stains on them, and patches of light where pictures had apparently been taken off the walls. The stairs lead up to a narrow hall, along which were bedrooms on either side. Frank, not knowing why, went into the bedroom opposite the murdered girl's. He was immediately struck by a vivid vision. 

//flash of dark hair// //beautiful if rare smile// //tall, lanky body// //seductive movements// //deep green eyes// 

Frank blinked. Those weren't images from the girl's murder. She had been a blue-eyed, short-blonde-haired beauty. Those were images from his past. Suddenly, he remembered the one night he'd spent, in early 1970. 

Just for one night, Frank had wanted to see what it was like to go cruising, to have a one-night stand. He'd found his way to this brothel, and been immediately seduced by a woman who was just starting that night. She'd been nervous, almost an amateur. Since he was also new to it, the connection had been fine. Frank took the woman home to his apartment, and after they'd had sex—which she insisted was to be without protection, she was clean and didn't care what happened—they'd sat down and talked. 

The girl was intelligent, friendly, and a good conversationalist. Her name was Natalia Arntzen, and she was Russian. The two had talked long into the morning, winding up with her convinced she could do better than just being a prostitute. Natalia had wound up deciding to quit the profession the next morning, and move back to Russia. Frank had supported this decision whole-heartedly, and took her back to the brothel convinced he wasn't cut out for the pimp scene. 

Frowning, Frank looked around the room. It was plain, with nothing on the walls. She'd only stayed in it a few hours, and many girls had probably been since then, but he could still sense her. Ignoring the feelings, he went into the opposite room to see what he could get about the girl. 

* * *

When Frank got home, he logged into the internet and looked up the brothel's database. After printing some basic facts about the murdered girl, he looked up 'Natalia Arntzen', curious about what had happened to her. A grainy black-and-white photo came up, and Frank recognised her instantly. The information was short, but decent. 

"Natalia was only with us for one night, unfortunately. After this, she returned back to her homeland of Russia, and gave birth to a boy in September, 1970. In '71 she met and married a man. Sadly, in 1972 Natalia died, leaving behind her husband and child." 

Furrowing his brow, slightly disturbed, Frank jotted down names and dates, then connected into database for records. He searched Natalia's name, which brought up records. 
    
    
     "Natalia Arntzen bn. 1949 (Krasnoyarsk, Russia) d. 1972 (Tomsk, Russia)
    
    
     Related records: Nastekov, Ivan (husband) Krycek, Alexander (son)" 

"Alex Krycek?" Frank repeated, surprised. The murderer they'd been after recently had been the son of the one prostitute he'd ever been with. Dates suddenly connecting in his mind, Frank clicked Krycek's name, bringing up his record. 
    
    
     "Alexander Krycek bn. 1970 (Krasnoyarsk, Russia) (click here for birth certificate)
    
    
     Related records: Arntzen, Natalia (mother)" 

Momentarily, Frank wondered why Ivan Nastekov wasn't named as Alex Krycek's father. Then, curious, he clicked for the birth certificate. Under 'father', where one would expect to find Ivan's name, was (unknown). 

Starting to worry a little, Frank did some quick date calculations in his head. Nine months prior to the child's birth... 

"I'm Krycek's father," he finished out loud, in disbelief. 

* * *

Frank had no idea where to start. He had to distract himself from his grief—and this was something to throw himself into. According to the records, there was little room for doubt that the two of them were related. He'd managed to find blood records. Krycek's blood was ABB negative, an unusual type. Frank's blood was also AB negative. 

It was eight at night, and Frank held out little hope of doing anything before the morning. 

Just when he was trying to think of what to do in the morning, the phone rang. Frank leaned over and picked it up. "Frank Black." 

"Daddy?" 

He smiled. "Hi, honey. How are you?" 

"I miss Mommy. And I miss you. When are you coming to get me?" Jordan sounded a little sad. 

"Tell you what, I'll pick you up from school tomorrow. Is that all right, sweetie?" 

"Okay. Right after school?" 

"Sure, Jordan. How are your grandparents?" Frank sat back, wondering if he should say something about Alex. He was her half-brother, and she probably should know. But then, if it didn't work out... 

"Okay. I want to come home." Jordan sighed. "Can you come get me tonight?" 

At the tone of his daughter's voice, Frank's heart wrenched. "Sweetheart, I wish I could." 

"Please, Daddy?" 

He sighed. "Is something wrong?" 

"I want to come home." 

Face contorting, he looked at the receiver. "Look, Jordan, I can take you home tomorrow. Until then, you can stay with your grandparents." 

"Why don't you want me with you?" 

"I want you with me more than anything, Jordan. I wish you were here right now. But I have to wait, and see you tomorrow. Is that all right, honey?" 

A sigh from Jordan. "Okay..." 

"Listen, honey, I have to go now. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" 

"Okay, Daddy. I love you." 

"I love you, too, Jordan. Bye..." 

"Bye." 

The two hung up the phone, and Frank looked at his blank computer screen. Tomorrow was to be a long day. 

* * *

The alarm clock sounded, and Frank fumbled for it, eventually hitting the snooze button. He kept his head on the pillow, struggling to open his eyes. After a couple of minutes, the alarm sounded again. Frank finally opened his eyes completely, rolling out of bed. The alarm clock read 10:42, which was surprising, considering how tired he was. 

He'd known while talking to Jordan that he wasn't going to be able to pick her up. There was too much to be done, and he'd prefer not to deal with her until this whole thing with Alex Krycek was sorted out. 

Grabbing a pair of tennis shoes that were lying on the ground, Frank got dressed, and went outside to the Jeep. Driving to Jordan's school, he had a little time to think about what he was going to do. Surely the first step was to get in touch with Agent Mulder. Mulder might have some sort of an idea of how to find Alex. 

Frank inwardly noted that he'd changed from referring to him as 'Krycek', to 'Alex'. Strange. 

The parking lot had a few cars in it, and Frank parked closest to the classrooms. Jumping out of the car, he locked the doors and walked inside. Jordan's classroom was to the right, and Frank knocked on the door. As he poked his head in, he noticed how everyone turned to look. To the teacher, he called, "Can I speak to Jordan, please?" 

Jordan, beaming, immediately ran out to her father. Frank gave the teacher a grateful smile, and shut the door behind Jordan. He knelt down to the girl's level, and hugged her tight. 

"Daddy, I can't breathe!" She giggled into his shoulder, and he let her go, looking at her face. 

He hadn't seen the girl for over a week. After Catherine had been shot, he'd driven in a daze to Catherine's parents' house, leaving Jordan there. He hadn't said a word to her, or to either of her grandparents. 

"Jordan, I'm sorry, but you can't come home today." The girl's face fell, and he went on, "It's a definite for tomorrow, though." 

"You said today! I want to come home with you today. Please, Daddy?" Jordan looked pleadingly at her father. 

"Honey, I really wish you could come with me. But I'm going to be extremely busy, and there won't be anyone to look after you. I'm sorry, okay?" Frank looked at her, and sighed. 

Jordan looked away. "How come Mommy left me, and now you're leaving me?" 

Frank's heart wrenched, and he took the girl into his arms. "Honey, I'm not leaving you. After tomorrow, we can be together all the time, okay? And Mommy didn't want to leave you. She..." he trailed off, not knowing what to say. "Jordan, I wish it didn't have to be like this, sweetie." 

She looked back into the classroom. "I'm missing something. Please don't not come tomorrow." 

"Hey, Jordan, I promise I'll be here tomorrow." He kissed her forehead. "Love you, sweetheart." 

She hugged him. "Bye." 

Frank stayed crouched on the ground, watching as Jordan walked back into the classroom. He sighed, stood up, and placed both hands into his pockets. She'd know to take the correct bus home. He walked outside, got into the Jeep, and drove off. There was a lot of work to be done. 

* * *

"I need to speak to Agent Mulder," Frank told someone he met in the halls of the J. Edgar Hoover building. Inwardly, he noted how familiar he felt in the halls, how right it was compared to the Richmond PD. 

The woman smiled. "You'll find him in the basement." 

He thanked her, and took the elevator down to the basement office. Agent Mulder was seated at the desk, wearing glasses, working on a report. Frank stood in the doorway, and rapped on the door. Mulder looked up. 

"Oh, Mr Black." He took his glasses off, setting them down on the desk. "Can I help you?" 

"I hope so. Do you have any idea of how to contact Alex Krycek?" 

"Is this for the case?" Mulder opened a draw, rifling through papers. "I do have the number for his apartment that he used when he was in the Bureau. I don't know if he still uses it, the phone was disconnected." 

"Would you mind trying it? I need to meet with him." 

Mulder punched in the number, leaving it on speaker phone. He waved a hand, indicating for Frank to sit down. A woman answered the phone. "Hello?" 

A strange expression played over Mulder's face. "Is Alex Krycek there?" 

"I'm sorry, Alex moved out a couple of years ago. I do have his new number, though." 

"What is it?" Frank waited expectantly as the woman went off to get it. 

"Oh, here it is. 555 6739." 

"Okay, thank you." Mulder hung up the phone, and then, dialled the new number. It rang, and then there was silence on the line. Mulder leaned forward. "Krycek?" 

There was a pause. Then, "Mulder? What the... where the fuck did you find this number?" 

Frank frowned at the language. This wasn't going to be easy. 

"Krycek. I need to meet with you tonight." 

A bitter laugh. "How fucking stupid do you think I am? Go screw yourself." 

"I'm not going to arrest you." Mulder shifted somewhat uncomfortably. "Can we just meet somewhere?" 

"If this is a trick, I'll shoot you." 

"Look, Krycek, this isn't a trick. I want to see you, okay? I can't explain it. I'm at work." 

Frank gave Mulder a curious look, and the FBI agent shook his head. 

"Oh, it's going to be that sort of meeting? Hell. I didn't know you were that way inclined." Krycek's grin could be heard in his voice. "If this is a front..." 

"Please, Krycek. Seven tonight. Outside the Seventy-Fifth diner downtown." 

There was a pause. "Yeah. Fine." Krycek hung up the phone, and Mulder followed suit. He turned to Frank. 

"I'll meet you here at six-thirty. Krycek won't come anywhere if he doesn't see my car. Can I ask why you want to see him?" 

"Personal reasons," Frank replied simply, not willing to elaborate. 

"Personal reasons with that rat?" Mulder leaned back in his seat. "The diner you're meeting him at... it's the only thing I could think of to get him to agree. It's where we dined after the conclusion of our first case. He was feeling... or acting, really bad about shooting Cole. I shouted him dinner, at this diner." Mulder shrugged. "He's very different now." 

"Different?" 

"He's a complete bastard. You have no idea. When we were partners, I thought we could possibly be friends. But now..." Mulder fingered the phone cord. "Everything's changed." 

Frank watched the other man for a while, wondering what it was about Alex Krycek that made Mulder so uncomfortable. Deciding against pushing the matter, Frank stood up. "I'll meet you back here at six-thirty." 

Distracted, staring into space, Mulder nodded ever-so -slightly. Frank left the basement. 

* * *

At quarter to seven, Mulder and Frank were parked opposite the diner, under a streetlamp. The patrons of the diner were silhouetted as shadows against the bright lights. The atmosphere in the car was completely different, neither speaking. After several minutes, there was a movement across the street. Mulder pointed. "There. That's Krycek. Good luck." 

Frank followed his line of gaze, and saw Alex, recognising him from over a week beforehand. His hair was reasonably long, falling just around his ears. Greased back. Alex was dressed in black jeans, black leather jacket, black shirt and black leather gloves. Thinking how ironic that was, Frank smiled a little wryly. He got out of the car, leaning back in to thank Mulder. 

Mulder smiled. "Nothing to it." 

Frank shut the door quietly, and walked across the street, trying to appear inconspicuous. Krycek eyed him warily, then startled in recognition. Frank noticed that he looked somewhat like a deer trapped in headlights: not knowing where to run. He stepped towards the younger man. 

"Alex Krycek, right?" 

Alex laughed bitterly. "So this was a trap. Mulder got me here so you could slam me in handcuffs and throw me away, right?" He let his right hand push his jacket back, revealing a gun. "No." 

"I'm not here in relation to the case, Alex." 

"Oh, it's _Alex_ , now, is it? Fuck, I'm out of here." He paused, then comprehending what Frank had said. His curiosity got the better of him. "What are you here for?" 

"I need to talk to you. Can we go inside?" 

"Yeah, right. I'm not going anywhere with you." 

Frank sighed. This wasn't going as well as he might have hoped. "Look, this is important. Would you just come inside, eat dinner, and we'll talk." At Alex's guarded expression, he continued, "I'm buying." 

"If you dare try to arrest me, I won't hesitate to kill you." Alex looked him up and down. "To hell with it. You don't exactly pose much of a threat." 

"Thanks," Frank replied wryly. 

Finally, Alex gave him something that could almost be considered a tight smile, and the two walked inside the diner. 

* * *

Alex and Frank sat in a darkened booth in the corner, and the waiter took their orders. Inwardly, Frank wondered, due to the size of Alex's coming meal, how long it had been since the younger man had had a proper meal. 

After a while, Alex leaned back in his seat, and shrugged. "What's this about?" 

Frank wondered what the best way to breach the subject would be. He decided on subtlety. "Alex, do you remember your mother at all?" 

"Where'd that come from?" Alex shot back. Frank realised that he'd had the connection worked out in his head, and had forgotten that other people found it impossible to follow silent trains of thought. He was about to ask a different question, when Alex turned his face to study the wall. "Not much. She died when I was really young. Most of what I know is from what I've been told, and from photos." 

"What about your father?" 

"What is this? An interrogation?" Alex shrugged. "Yeah. I don't think I'm going to be able to ever forget him. The bastard." 

Thinking a little, Frank dug some papers out of his pocket. Firstly, he handed Alex a basic timeline of his mother's, from when she moved back to Russia to when she died. The 1971 information of 'Met and Married' was heavily accented. Alex looked up, quizzical expression on his face. "What does this mean?" 

"You're not stupid, Alex. What do you think it means?" Frank handed over another paper, Alex's birth certificate. The younger man studied it, then raised his gaze. 

"What the fuck is this?" 

"Why do you think Ivan Nastekov isn't named as your birth father?" 

Alex obviously thought about that, then looked back at Frank. "Why don't you tell me?" 

Frank sighed a little. "There's no easy way around this, Alex. I've been reliving a lot of memories in the past couple of days, and have done a lot of research. Blood, records, all sorts. To cut a long story short... I'm your father." 

The words fell uncomfortably into silence, neither saying anything, until Alex exclaimed, "Aw, fuck!" 

Looking up, Frank replied, "What?" 

"This has to be a goddamn joke. Just because you come up out of the blue, claiming to be my father, I'm supposed to shut up and accept it? Fuck you. I don't know what you're trying to pull." Alex's face, his eyes, betrayed the fact his vehement denial wasn't in fact completely true. 

"Alex. Why would I be saying this as a joke?" 

Stumped, Alex slammed his head violently down on the table, and left it there. In due time, the waiter brought their meals over, and Alex finally raised his head. In a dull, hollow, monotonous voice, he stated, "I saw you. The other day, I don't know, in my mind's eye. Walking into a brothel." Apparently unwilling to say anything else, the younger man set into his meal. 

Frank was lost in thought, ignoring the plate in front of him. If Alex had just described what Frank suspected he had, then Alex had inherited a part of Frank's gift. Curse. He sighed, causing the younger man to look over at him. "What?" 

"I'm just thinking, that's all." Frank set about eating his meal, and neither spoke for a while. 

When they were both finished—Frank wondering how Alex could keep slender with his apparent appetite—the waiter came over to collect their plates. 

Soon, Alex asked, out of nowhere, "Your wife. Was that her, the other day?" 

Not wanting to talk about it, Frank nodded. Alex went on oblivious. 

"I thought it'd be the other investigator's. We were only told it was the wife of one of the guys on the case. I didn't know..." Alex looked over at Frank. "I think I'll shut up, now." 

After a while, Alex sighed. "You're a profiler?" 

Frank looked at him. "Why do you care?" 

"I don't believe you," Alex replied quite unconvincingly. "But I'm just wondering. Are you any good?" 

Shrugging non-committedly, Frank asked, "Are you married at all? Any serious relationships?" 

"Not me. I'm trying to catch a Fox." 

Frank raised an eyebrow, wondering if that was why Agent Mulder—Agent Fox Mulder—had looked so uncomfortable when discussing Alex. 

After another uncomfortable bout of silence, Alex said, almost conversationally, "I learnt about some of your cases at the Academy." 

"Yeah, they teach some of them there." Unable to resist, Frank asked, "What did you think?" 

"What did I think?" Alex grinned bitterly. "Spooky's predecessor, huh?" 

"Spooky?" 

"Yeah, Mulder. They call him Spooky 'cause of the way he could solve cases in the VCS." 

Frank watched Alex's face, wondering what was running through the younger man's head. Suddenly, Alex violently slammed his hand down on the table, cursing. Frank startled, looking at him. Alex stood up. "Yeah, nice chat, but I'm off." 

"What? Why?" Alex didn't answer, stalking out of the restaurant. Frank stood up also, tossing two twenty dollar bills on the table. Ignoring the curious stares of the other patrons, Frank walked out of the diner and looked down the street. He could see Alex's leather-clad form, hunched over in the pale illumination of a streetlight, and caught himself understanding why he was referred to as a rat. However, Frank knew that Mulder was talking about Alex's personality traits. He sighed, and broke into a run after the younger man. 

At the sound of footsteps, Alex looked around to see Frank. Scowling, he quickened his pace. Despite this, Frank soon caught him up, placing a hand on Alex's left arm and taking a grip. Alex spun around to face him. 

"Let me go," he growled. "I don't give a shit about you and I don't want to have anything to do with this." 

"Alex, I don't know why you think this is all weighing onto you. You’re not the only one involved here. Whatever you may think this is doing to you, it's having an effect on me as well. Yesterday, I found out that I have a twenty-seven year old son by a woman I knew for one night. Whatever you think of me, and whatever you may be like, you're my son, and I want to get to know you." Frank sighed, watching Alex's face. 

"What the hell did you expect, huh? I'm not exactly fucking angelic. Did you really expect me to listen to and accept all of this? Fuck you." 

"No, Alex, I didn't expect you to accept it. I expected you to be more receptive. Look, I know you believe me. Maybe you don't care, but I can tell you actually believe me." 

Alex looked away. "Fuck you." Not looking at Frank, he ripped the prosthetic out of the older man's grasp, and walked off. 

Stunned, Frank watched him. "Alex. Wait." the younger man paused, and Frank continued. "The only reason I haven't arrested you tonight is because of who you are. If you walk away, I'm not going to have a choice." 

Back tensing, Alex didn't turn around. "So that's what this was for." 

"I'm not going to arrest you if I have a choice about it. However, if you walk away, Mulder might." 

Alex turned around then, avoiding Frank's eyes, and shrugged. "What now?" 

* * *

Alex sulkily stared out the window. He didn't know why he'd allowed Frank to get him into the car. Admittedly, he believed Frank. It would explain a hell of a lot of his life. The fact he looked nothing like Ivan. Why the consortium had been so enthusiastic about him joining their ranks, originally. 

And here he was, in the car he'd stolen just over a week ago, being driven back to Frank Black's house. 

Alex sighed heavily, causing Frank to look over at him. "You okay?" 

"Yeah, just fine." Alex paused for a minute, then deciding to elaborate. "Even though I didn't know about you, you've affected my whole life. I've realised that I got hired by the people I work for because you're my father." 

"What?" Frank, momentarily ignoring the road, looked over at his son. "How would the FBI have any idea about this?" 

Alex snorted. "Yeah. The FBI. Nice one." 

Shooting him a look, Frank replied, "What do you mean?" 

"The FBI wasn't my job. Didn't Mulder tell you that?" 

"Giebelhouse mentioned Mulder said you were working for a hidden agenda." Slowly, Frank continued. "You want to tell me about that?" 

"Not particularly." Alex resumed studying the side of the road. "It's too complicated. You wouldn't understand." 

Neither said anything for a few minutes, until Alex slowly, and apparently awkwardly, asked, "What was my mother like?" 

Frank thought for a minute, then answered sincerely, "She was sweet, and friendly, and intelligent. I wish you'd known her properly." 

"She hung herself with the clothesline." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Yeah." Alex, who didn't seem particularly bothered, went back to staring out the window. After a few minutes of silence, he looked over at Frank. Once they went through a light, Alex immediately went back to staring out, uncomfortable. Frank was crying. 

* * *

It was close to ten when the two pulled into the driveway of Frank's house. Alex got out of the car, waiting for Frank. The two went inside the house, and stood awkwardly in the foyer. Frank sighed. "I haven't slept much lately. I think I might just hit bed now. There's a spare bed..." 

Alex shook his head. "I haven't slept at all for a week. I'll just crash on the couch." 

"I've got a shirt and sweats you can borrow, if you want..." 

"Nah. I'll just sleep in boxers. I just need sleep." 

Frank nodded, then noticing the light on the answering machine. He pressed play, listening to the message. 

"Hi Daddy... I just want to talk to you. Don't forget tomorrow, okay? Bye..." 

Deleting the message, Frank was about to go off to bed, when he caught Alex giving him a strange look. "What?" 

"Who was that?" 

Realising why Alex was asking, Frank smiled a little. "Jordan. My daughter." 

Alex frowned. "How old is she?" 

"Six." 

Alex shrugged, and turned around, indicating their conversation was over. Frank walked into his room, going to bed. 

* * *

Frank woke up, only vaguely aware that his alarm hadn't gone off. His clock read 10:23, and he sighed, throwing the sheet off the bed. More than twelve hours sleep... Frank wondered if it was because a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, so to speak. 

When he went into the living room, Alex's presence on the couch made him recall the events of the previous day. Alex was sprawled on the couch, wearing only boxers and his black t-shirt, watching television. When Frank walked in, Alex looked up. "Oh, hi." 

Frank had to smile at the way Alex's fairly long hair was sticking out in all directions. Because there was gel still in it when he went to sleep, the hair now had the look maniacs seemed to prefer. "Morning. Sleep well"?" 

"Pretty well." Alex was keeping an eye on the television during the conversation. 

Frank looked at the set, and smiled a little at the cartoon that was on. "What are you watching?" 

"South Park," Alex replied. "I didn't know it was on in the mornings." 

"Have you had breakfast?" 

"Nah. Why?" 

"You want scrambled eggs?" 

A pause. "Yeah, okay." Alex was distracted, watching the television. "Thanks." 

"It's okay." Frank went through to the kitchen, listening to Alex's occasional laughter. He smiled. 

Ten minutes later, Frank took a loaded plate of food out to his son. Alex sat up, and balanced it on his lap. He left the knife on the couch beside him, and set about eating. 

"Alex, I've got to do some work with the case today. You're welcome to tag along." 

"Frank, I'm the main suspect in the case. I don't think anyone would appreciate me tagging along." Alex took another mouthful, waiting for Frank's response. 

Completely seriously, Frank began, "I'm going to do something today, that I've never done before, and won't ever do again. I'm going to lie about a case. To cover you." He stopped, sighing. "It might not be the right thing to do, but I'm doing it. If I present a theory to Giebelhouse and the rest of the police force working with the case, saying that Paul was in fact the original killer, you're going to get off.." 

Alex had stopped eating. "Why are you doing that?" 

"Because you're my son, Alex. But just answer me this: who made you kill the first three?" 

"What makes you think I didn't just do it because I'm an evil son of a bitch?" At Frank's glare, Alex sighed. "The guys I work for. The senator was dabbling in something he shouldn't have been." He pushed his plate away. "I'm not hungry." 

Gently, Frank took the plate away. He left it, along with his own, in the kitchen. Then he went back to the lounge. "Do you want to tell me about your employers?" 

Alex didn't reply for a minute, then suddenly, started. "They're a bunch of old men who basically run this country, and place a lot of stock in genetics. They know everything, and are beyond any prosecution. They also tend to get underlings like me to do their dirty work." He paused for a minute. "I was recruited halfway through Quantico, lead by promises that we were doing the right thing. I've betrayed them more times than I care to remember, but can't get away." 

"Let me investigate them," Frank said. "I can't promise anything, but I need to know what you're involved in." 

"No, Frank!" Alex exclaimed, standing up and turning around to face him. "I don't need you doing the fatherly thing and finding out what I'm into. You've never been around before to do that. You weren't there to comfort me when I got beaten up for being scrawny. You weren't there to fix my bike when it broke. You weren't ever there, Frank, and I don't need you now to make sure no one's doing something wrong to me. I don't need you." 

"If they're a shadowy organisation preparing for something..." 

"An alien takeover." 

"Whatever. Anyway, I know about that sort of thing." 

Alex snorted. "Yeah, sure. How the fuck would you know?" 

"Because I was involved in something similar, Alex." Annoyed that he wasn't getting anywhere, Frank stood up and left, going into the kitchen. 

Soon enough, Alex followed him, standing in the doorway. He watched Frank for a while, then asked, "What were you involved in?" 

Frank turned around and studied Alex for a minute, then shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it. I'm trying to leave that part of my life behind." 

After a minute, Alex shrugged. There was uncomfortable silence for a while, until Frank turned to him. "Look, Alex, why don't you borrow some pants and a shirt of mine, brush your hair down, and grab some shoes." 

"Just call me Eliza, at the same time," Alex offered. 

Frank glared at him. "Giebelhouse won't recognise you that way. You can borrow anything from my closet, okay?" 

"Yeah. Can I take a shower?" 

"Sure," Frank replied, surprised. "The bathroom's down the hall." 

Alex nodded, and sauntered off down the hallway, leaving Frank trying not to think about the Millennium Group. 

* * *

After about half an hour, Alex came back out into the living room, and Frank's eyebrows flew up at the complete transformation. Smiling, Alex twirled around, eliciting a grin from Frank. Alex's dark brown hair was washed and brushed, curling in and framing his face. He was wearing a plain white shirt, and blue jeans, along with a pair of tennis shoes. All in all, Alex looked completely different from the hardened rebel without a cause Frank had met the night before. 

"Shall we go, then?" 

Alex grinned. "Sure. Can we get lunch first, though?" 

Frank raised an eyebrow. "We had breakfast half an hour ago." 

"Oh. Yeah." He paused. "What's your point?" 

* * *

Frank stopped the Jeep outside the brothel, and the two of them got out, walking up the steps. Giebelhouse was already inside, talking to someone. He turned when Frank and Alex walked in. 

"Hey, Frank." He looked at Alex, quizzical expression. 

Alex plastered on his most charming smile, offering his hand. "Val Arntzen." 

The detective shook Alex's hand. "Detective Giebelhouse. You helpin' Frank out?" 

"I hope to be, Detective." He paused, then, unable to resist, "What have you got on the person who murdered the girl?" 

Giebelhouse turned to Frank. "You filled him in?" Then, to Alex, "Not much. We don't know if she was killed by the guy who killed Frank's wife, or the guy who killed that guy." 

Alex indicated to the file Giebelhouse was holding. "Can I take a look?" 

Giebelhouse willingly handed it over, and Alex looked around for a place to sit. Eventually, he decided on the stairs, leaning his legs out in front of him. Frank motioned to the detective, and the two of them went outside. 

"What is it?" 

"Look, Giebelhouse, the first three murders. They weren't done by Krycek." 

Giebelhouse looked sceptical. "What makes you think that?" 

"What evidence do we have that it was him? Just Agent Mulder's word. And his was the weapon used." Frank looked carefully at the other man. 

"So you're saying that we should take Agent Mulder in?" 

"No. I think that the original murders were done by the same man who killed my wife." 

Giebelhouse considered that. "Do we have a positive ID on the guy?" 

"Yes, per his dental records. Paul McDermott." Frank stared into space for a minute. "But I think the real target of our investigation should be the people who told him to murder these people. Not the underlings who just carry out orders." 

"Hey, he who pulls the trigger..." 

"...Commits the crime. I know. But something larger is going on, here, Giebelhouse." Frank paused. "I'm thinking of going back to the Bureau." 

"What made you decide that?" 

"This whole case. Just the way we haven't had anything like this for a long time. If I was with the Bureau..." 

The two walked back inside, where Alex was standing up. He handed the file back to Giebelhouse. "Did you think to do an examination for semen on the girl?" 

Giebelhouse shook his head wordlessly. 

"Maybe you should. It could prove who the killer was." Alex paused. "If he had his way with her first." 

"She was a prostitute. She could have any number of men's semen on or in her." Frank watched Alex carefully, knowing that he knew something. 

"Yeah, but you look at the records." Alex handed over a thick black book to Frank. "She didn't have anyone for two weeks before she was murdered." 

"Paul McDermott was a non-secreter," Giebelhouse pointed out. 

Thoughtfully, Alex said, "She'll still have evidence on her body. Can't you get a pathologist to check her out? I know a good one at the FBI. If nothing else, it might rule out other suspects." 

"He's right," Frank pointed out, glad of that fact. "Her body's still in the morgue, I believe. We can get this sorted out." 

Nodding, Giebelhouse turned to walk out. "Can you two get a pathologist organised? I'll talk to you later." 

Alex nodded, and waved goodbye to the detective. He turned to Frank, who looked impressed. 

Frank raised an eyebrow. "Val?" 

Smiling, Alex replied, "Yeah. It's my middle name. I go by Val Arntzen when I'm doing something I probably shouldn't be." He shrugged. 

"Do you really know a pathologist at the FBI?" 

"Sort of. Dana Scully. I don't think she'd really appreciate the recommendation." Alex started out the door. "She'd probably comply if you asked, though." 

Frank followed his son out the door. "I guess it's worth a try, then." 

* * *

The two men walked up the steps of the J. Edgar Hoover building. Before them, the door swung open, and Alex suddenly stopped. Frank turned to him. "What?" 

He followed Alex's line of vision, to where Agent Mulder was standing, glancing between them. Mulder obviously recognised Krycek, because he glared at Frank. "You were working with that murdering rat the whole time." 

Frank shook his head. 

Mulder stepped down, taking Frank by the lapels of his jacket. "The detective and I were busting our asses to solve this case, and you were in with _Krycek_?!" 

About to really lose his cool, Mulder suddenly half-fell over, but was yanked to his feet. Krycek, firmly grasping a handful of Mulder's shirt and tie, pulled him up the final step and shoved him against the wall. Frank watched, stunned, as Krycek held his ex -partner against the wall with his hand. Mulder seemed equally stunned. 

"Don't you fucking touch him, Mulder. He hasn't done a goddamn thing." 

Krycek let his hand drop down, pressing his body against Mulder's to keep him against the wall. Their faces were only an inch apart, with their eyes locked. 

"Like I'm going to believe a word that comes out of your double-crossing mouth, you son of a bitch." 

"Aw, shut up!" Frank noticed that Alex was pressing his groin into Mulder's, and the other man wasn't drawing back. "Can you just listen, for once? You have no idea." 

Mulder tried to look away, and his left hand snuck down to get the gun from his holster. Krycek saw that, and blinked. Mulder's gaze was steady, his hand with the gun in it equally so. Frank wondered if he should be doing something, if Alex was possibly going to get shot in front of his eyes. 

As Mulder drew the gun up, Alex leaned forward and kissed him. Hard. On the lips. 

As Mulder stared at the other man incredulously, letting his gun drop, Alex stood back. He turned to Frank. "I think we can go in, now." 

* * *

"Listen, I really don't think I should go in to see Scully. You'd better do it." 

Frank watched Alex for a second, then sighed. "What are you going to do?" 

"Wander around, rekindle old friendships, kill some people..." At Frank's glance, Alex shrugged. "I'll amuse myself." 

"Okay," Frank said simply. 

"After that, can we go get something to eat?" 

Rolling his eyes at Alex's one-track mind, Frank went off to get in the elevator. 

* * *

"Agent Scully?" Frank called from the door. 

The red-haired woman looked up. "Yes?" Then, in recognition, "Frank Black?" She got up, and shook his hand. "It's an honour, sir." 

"The reason I came down here... I'm working on a case at the moment, and was wondering if you could do an autopsy for us. You came highly recommended." 

Scully smiled. "I haven't got anything on at the moment, so I could do it... what should I have a mind towards?" 

"Rape," Frank said. Then, tentatively, "By a non-secretor." 

"Can I ask who the subject will be?" 

"Amber Jenkins. She was a prostitute, but we know for sure she hadn't been working for two weeks." 

"She may have had someone in her spare time, though," Scully stated. "Rape injuries and specific semen are near impossible things to determine with a prostitute." 

"Apart from her killer, she won't have traces of anyone's semen in her." Frank paused. "After all, do you do autopsies in your spare time?" 

* * *

Scully snapped her gloves on, and picked up her scalpel. Into a small recording device, she dictated, "Three-twenty-one p.m, begin autopsy on subject JTTO111470, white female, Amber Jenkins. Precursory examination indicates that probable cause of death is..." Looking at the head injuries, and the fact a bullet wound was clear, she continued, "Bullet through the forehead, which pierced her cerebrum. I will begin with the Y-incision." 

She sighed. It looked like a pretty straightforward autopsy. If there was such a thing. 

* * *

Frank, with Alex in the passenger seat, pulled up in front of the school. Without saying anything, he got out of the Jeep, leaving Alex. 

"Daddy!" 

Frank grinned as Jordan came bounding towards him, and bent down. She flew into his arms, throwing both hands around his neck. 

"Hey, Jordan." He set the girl back at arm's length. "How was school?" 

"Fine, Daddy. Can I come home now?" 

Frank smiled at her. "Sure thing." Jordan hugged him again, and he sighed. Taking her hand, Frank turned around to walk back to the car. 

Jordan stopped. "Who's that?" 

Alex shifted his weight uncomfortably, leaning on the Jeep, gaze fixed on Jordan. He didn't say anything. 

"A friend of mine, Jordan," Frank introduced him tentatively. 

She beamed at Alex, apparently deciding to like him. "What's your name?" 

"Alex," he replied slowly. Struck for words, he didn't say anything else. Jordan grinned, then ran past him to get in the front seat. Frank shrugged at Alex, who just got in the back seat and resumed his window-watching. 

There was silence in the car for a while, until Jordan sighed melodramatically. 

Frank looked over at her. "What is it?" 

"I'm hungry." 

From the back, Alex laughed, and Frank had to roll his eyes. 

* * *

Frank inwardly groaned, handing over the money to the cashier. He wasn't getting anything, but just for Alex and Jordan - the latter of whom had had lunch—it was setting him back twenty dollars. 

Jordan took one of the trays, and Alex, following her example, took the other. Frank followed them, and ended up sitting opposite his daughter. 

There was no conversation at the table for a while, until Alex decided to strike one up with his half-sister. "So, Jordan, you're six, right?" 

She turned to him, looking up. "Yes... how old are you?" 

"Twenty-seven." Alex drunk from his soda. 

The little girl screwed up her nose. "You're almost as old as Daddy!" 

Alex laughed into his drink, eliciting a strange look from Jordan. Frank looked at her. "He isn't even half my age, Jordan." 

"Oh." She was silent for a minute, eating her fries. Then she looked at him thoughtfully. "Are you from overseas?" 

"Yeah, Russia," Alex replied, surprised. "Why'd you think that?" 

"I just thought that," Jordan replied, indicating that conversation was over by going back to her fries. At alternating times, her hand would sneak over to take some of Alex's. "What happened to your arm?" 

"Jordan," Frank said, warningly. 

Alex, obviously uncomfortable, went back to his meal. Jordan started into a story about something that had happened at school that day. Frank, not listening, studied Alex as he ate the food. The man obviously had a lot more layers to him than were visible on the surface. Mulder hadn't mentioned how recent the arm was, but from his reaction to being asked about it, Frank hazarded that it was fairly new. 

However, somehow he'd been hardened beyond belief. 

Jordan's voice broke into his train of thought. "... Do they, Daddy?" 

He looked at the girl, realising he had no idea what she was talking about. "I don't know, honey." Alex looked up at Frank, and grinned at him, obviously amused. 

Jordan sighed. "You do so know." 

"No, really, I-" 

Alex cut him off. "Yeah, they do, Jordan. Twice a night." 

She looked up at him, admiring. "How do you know?" 

"I know everything," he informed her jokingly. She giggled. 

Frank watched the two of them silently, how they interacted. A totally different side of Alex came out when he was around Jordan, and Frank was surprised. 

"Do you have a girlfriend, Alex?" 

"Jordan," Frank warned again, "Lay off the personal questions, okay?" 

"But Daddy, I want to know!" 

Alex didn't look at either of them, concentrating on his meal. After a while, he looked up again. "Hey, Frank, what's happening tonight?" 

"Not much. I have to make some phone calls, but that's about it. Why?" 

"Just wondering." 

There was awkward silence for a while, until Frank turned to Jordan. "Have you got any homework?" 

"A bit," she replied. "Not much." 

He nodded, and no one spoke for a bit longer. Jordan, who had had enough to eat, started up staring at Alex. After a while, he turned to her, unnerved. "What?" 

"You're pretty." 

He grinned. "Hey, thanks." 

"Do you use mascara?" 

Alex, surprised, looked up at Frank, then at Jordan. "Hell, screw mascara, my lashes are natural." 

"Alex," Frank warned, referring to his language. He wasn't surprised, but didn't need it in front of Jordan. 

Jordan giggled. "Yeah, Alex, you do so." 

He rolled his eyes, and reached over to take some of the girl's fries. Despite the fact Jordan was finished, she smacked Alex's hand. "Hey!" 

"What?" 

Jordan reached past him, to take his drink. After taking a mouthful, she replaced it. 

"Hey!" Alex exclaimed, mock-hurt in his voice. "What was that for?" 

Frank closed his eyes. He didn't have the faintest idea of how to deal with the two of them. After a minute, when he heard Jordan's explosive giggling, he opened his eyes. "What?" 

Both were grinning widely at Frank, and he began to get suspicious. "What?" 

Neither replied, and he looked down to find his wallet gone. He looked up again to find Alex grinning and Jordan obviously containing giggles with some difficulty. 

"Which one of you took it?" Frank looked pointedly at Alex. 

Alex shrugged innocently, cocking his head towards Jordan. Frank's gaze changed focus. "Jordan," he began slowly, "What do you have?" 

"Nothing, Daddy," she replied, and then dissolved into giggles. 

Frank sighed. 

* * *

Pausing before he rang Agent Scully, Frank looked through to the lounge. Jordan—and he couldn't be bothered making her do otherwise—was doing her homework sprawled on the couch. Alex was watching television, occasionally glancing over at his sister. 

Frank picked up the receiver and dialled Scully's number. 

"Scully," came the answer. 

"Agent Scully, this is Frank Black... I was just wondering about the results of the autopsy." 

There was a pause. "Well, firstly, she did have forced sex with a non-secretor soon before her death. She has defence injuries, indicating she fought back. But the most interesting thing, was that the bullet through the head wasn't the only injury of sorts.." 

"What?" Frank looked at the receiver in surprise. "What was?" 

"Well, from remnants, dried, on her throat and stomach lining, I can only guess that it was poison, ingested. He got that into her system, possibly in alcohol. It could be that she was drunk while forced into intercourse. That would have slowed her defence, explaining why none of the defence injuries were what I would have expected. The bullet through the head would simply have helped to kill her after all that." 

Frank was shocked. "Can you fax me through a copy of your report?" 

"Sure. What's your fax number?" 

After giving it to her, and hanging up the phone, Frank drew up a chair, waiting for the fax to come through. 

* * *

When the fax started to squeal, Alex looked away from the television. Apparently eager for a distraction, Jordan looked up at her father, then back down. She sighed. "Alex, can you help me?" 

Surprised at how comfortable she'd become with him, he muted the television. "What is it?" 

Jordan beckoned him over. "I don't know the answer. Daddy usually helps me." 

Kneeling down beside the couch, Alex looked at the map she held. "What do you need?" 

"Capital cities," she whined. "I don't know them." 

"Is there an atlas?" 

Jordan sighed. "No..." She pointed at the map. "What state is this?" 

"Nebraska," Alex said after thinking a little. "I think the capital's Lincoln." 

"And this?" 

Alex looked at where the little girl was pointing, and froze, memories washing over him. "North Dakota," he whispered. 

_Screaming, when is help coming?_ _fear, terrible fear_ _unshakeable feeling of claustrophobia_ _wanting to die_ _no one arriving_

Jordan looked up at him. "Alex? Alex, what's wrong?" 

He snapped out of it, looking at her. "N... nothing." 

"Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine." Shaken by the memory, Alex stood up and left the room, going to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror, staring as if expecting to see the black oil gazing back. He hated bathrooms almost as much as he hated North Dakota. That _woman_... 

Alex looked truly shaken, hating the memory. It had been the worst year in his life—being locked in a missile silo, then getting out in time to get his arm lopped off. He frowned a little, not willing to think about it, and went back out to the living room. 

Frank looked at him. "Alex, I have to go over to Giebelhouse's. Are you okay with Jordan? I mean, I can take her with me..." 

Stunned that anyone would trust him that far, Alex shook his head. "That's fine..." He couldn't say anything else, too shocked. Frank knew his past—at least a small part of it—but was willing to put it all aside, to ignore it. To give Alex a second chance. 

* * *

Frank knocked on the door, In his hand, he held the autopsy results. Fairly soon, the door was opened. Giebelhouse was wearing his work pants, and a white shirt with the top buttons undone. His tie was loosened, and his feet bare. 

"Frank," he began. "What is it? Come in, I just opened the scotch." 

"Giebelhouse," Frank replied easily, stepping inside the house. "Look at this." He thrust the fax paper into the detective's hands. 

Giebelhouse read it. "What the hell is this?" 

"The poison. It was in the beer." 

"It can't be..." 

Frank shrugged angrily, pouring himself a scotch. "I don't know. But I need you to pull out everything we had on the Three Way killer." 

The Three Way killer was Frank and Giebelhouse's biggest success, and also their biggest failure. As the first case the two had worked completely together, it had been the toughest thing the police department had ever seen. The killer had been dubbed Three Way in relation to the way he had killed his victims. Firstly, he'd get them drunk. The alcohol—always the same unusual brand of beer—contained a poison that subdued the victim, slowing down their vitals. Then he'd rape her—his victims were always woman, usually prostitutes. Sometimes the girl would fight back, sometimes not. He was never tracked down, because he was lucky enough to be a non-secretor. The only hair/fibre thing they'd ever picked up was blond hair. At last he'd kill her, a non-fatal head wound that would add to the poison's effect, leaving her to die painfully. The only connection between the victim was gender - race, age, occupation all varied. Frank and Giebelhouse had worked all hours trying to determine where the next victim would be found, and eventually Frank had hit pay dirt. The man went in a three way spiral out from Seattle, escalating out. Then one day, the murders all stopped. Frank had gone crazy trying to figure out why. 

"In DC?" Giebelhouse sounded incredulous. "Look, are we certain he actually got killed when your wife did? Body bagged, tagged and buried?" 

Frank met his eyes. "No. Get in my car. We've got to go find the body." 

The degree of worry between them was obvious, neither of them talking, both completely on edge. This new development had so taken the footing out from beneath them, that neither knew what to do. 

Once Giebelhouse had clicked his seatbelt into place, Frank started the car. There was a lot to do, all of a sudden. 

* * *

The Jeep was the only car on the street outside the morgue. Darkness had long since engulfed the street, the only lights being the dim ones, the streetlamps. Frank had called on the way over, so someone should be around to let them in soon. 

Giebelhouse pointed out the front windscreen as another car pulled into the park. "Is that him?" 

"Yeah. Let's go." Frank got out of the car, locking it after Giebelhouse closed his door. The two went over to the man who was watching them carefully. 

Frank shook his hand. "Frank Black. We talked on the phone." 

The other man smiled tersely. "Brian Campbell. You understand this is an extremely unusual and irritating request. My wife doesn't appreciate me leaving her for work." 

At the man's words, Frank dropped his hand and avoided eyes. "We apologise for that, but this is extremely urgent." 

"I haven't looked at that body since it came in. I don't even understand why you gentlemen requested it be kept on-hand." 

"We're investigating some murders. The bodies might be important. The little woman's was, that's for sure. Now can we go see the stiff?" Giebelhouse's way with words was always interesting, Frank mused. But it worked. Brian opened the door, and the three men went inside. Once where the bodies were kept, Brian went over to the correct wall, pulling out something that looked like part of a file cabinet. 

He looked up at Frank and Giebelhouse. 

"The body's gone." 

* * *

"Should I have a bath now?" Jordan stood up, turning to Alex for confirmation. He gave her a blank look. 

"I guess," Alex looked at her. He didn't know how to treat her. He'd never been around a child before, and it was strange to suddenly obtain a younger sister. 

"Okay," she replied, walking past him, heading for the bathroom. Alex watched her go. He sighed. He didn't belong here. 

* * *

As Frank walked through the door, Alex looked up. Not saying anything, he looked back down. Frank threw his jacket on the chair, and collapsed into a chair. 

Jordan was sitting at the opposite end of the couch to Alex, both of them watching television. Frank smiled. The two could connect so well, but Alex still had that awkward air about him. 

"Jordan, shouldn't you be in bed?" Alex shot him a guilty glance, and Jordan heaved a sigh. 

Frank opened his arms, indicating for Jordan to come climb onto his lap. She did so, and he hugged her. Then, without saying a word to Alex, Frank stood up with her, and walked down the hall into her room. 

The girl climbed into her bed, watching her father. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. 

"Daddy, what did happen to Alex's arm?" 

Frank looked at his daughter for a minute, then stroked a stray curl away from her face. "I don't know, sweetie. Go to sleep." 

Jordan nodded, turning her face away. Frank smiled down at her, then turned around and left the room. 

Alex was still watching television, mindlessly, when Frank came out to the living room. He sat down on the chair again, and watched his son. "Alex," he started after a while, "What do you know about Paul's history?" 

There was no answer for a while, and Frank was about to ask again, when Alex decided to speak. "Not a hell of a lot. They said he'd killed before, but I don't really know shit about him. I don't care, either." 

Frank paused. "His MO, the way he killed the prostitute... it's similar to a case Giebelhouse and I worked a year or so ago. And we suspect he's still alive." 

"I shot the fucker!" Alex exclaimed. "He was dead, damnit." 

"His body has disappeared." Frank sighed, standing up. "Is there a way you could safely find anything out about him that might be of some help to us?" 

Alex snorted. "Safely? I haven't done anything safe in my whole life." Frank shook his head, looking out the window. He didn't say anything, waiting for Alex to speak. Alex did. "Okay. I will." 

"Thanks." 

After a while, Alex started, sounding strange, "Jordan was asking about my arm." 

It was more of a statement than a question, but Frank went back through and sat on the chair. "Yes, she was. Jordan gets curious when she picks up on something." 

"Do you want to know about it?" Alex asked bluntly. 

Frank thought about what to answer for a while. Then he sighed. "What did happen?" 

"I was forced to pay for my sins, that's what." Alex laughed bitterly. "Sounds noble, but it isn't." 

"Agent Mulder said something about Russia." Frank tried to study the younger man's face, but Alex turned away. 

"Yeah. Some fuckwit do-it-yourselfers thought they were helping me out." 

"I don't understand." 

"You don't understand much, do you?" Alex meant it as a rhetorical statement. Neither talked for a minute. 

"Alex..." 

"Shut up!" he exclaimed, suddenly slamming his right fist into the back of the couch. "Look, a bunch of Russian bushmen lopped my arm off to protect me from some tests I was involved in running. Got an insight into my life yet, _Dad_?" 

Shocked, all Frank could manage, was, "Alex..." 

"Maybe you want to pull the understanding father thing again." 

"Alex, stop it." 

"Look, Frank, you have absolutely no fucking idea what my life is like. Last year I was locked in an underground goddamn missile silo for six months." 

"You... what?" Alex's life was so completely foreign to Frank, but he wanted to try to understand. 

"You heard me. My life is a totally fucked up mistake. Nothing's ever gone right for me." 

Frank didn't say anything. 

"I really wish I'd blown everyone away when those Russian shitheads came across me in the forest. I should have. I'd still have a left arm if I hadn't decided to fucking trust someone for the first time..." Alex trailed off. "Fuck them." 

"Alex, everything happens for a reason..." 

In sudden anger, Alex whirled around to face him. "Don't start that philosophical shit with me, Frank." 

Frank noticed Alex's eyes were watering ever so slightly. "I'm not meaning it like that, Alex. It's just that you shouldn't think about what might have been." 

"Whatever." Alex turned back to the television. "It's my own stupid fault. I'm too fucking stupid, and I paid for my stupidity." 

"You're not stupid. You might have had a temporary bout of stupidity, but overall you're not. It's unfortunate." 

"Unfortunate?" Alex echoed in disbelief. "You mean this-" He left off, pushing his shirt up and removing his prosthetic, then indicating the truncated limb with his right hand, "Is unfortunate?" 

Frank looked at him, at the pain usually hidden behind his features coming to the surface. "Maybe not unfortunate..." He noticed that Alex wasn't listening, his gaze fixated on the stump. Slowly, a lone tear slipped down Alex's cheek. One part of Frank, the fatherly part, wanted to reach out and embrace the other man, to just hug him. Instead, he held back, observing and watching. 

Whispering, voice shaking, Alex said, "It only happened two and a half goddamn weeks ago." 

Unable to resist, Frank reached his hand across the gap between the furniture. "Hey," he said softly, resting his hand on Alex's shoulder. He saw the younger man bring his right hand up to hold his face, and sighed. Alex was crying. 

* * *

The next morning, Frank came out to the living room to find Alex sound asleep on the couch, television blaring. Jordan was perched on the couch, atop Alex's feet. Frank simply smiled at the picture it made, then quietly went through to the kitchen. 

When the sounds of making breakfast made their way into the living room, Jordan startled, craning her neck to see. "Daddy?" 

Underneath her, Alex stirred, and eventually looked up at her. "Jordan? What are you doing..." 

She giggled, laying down flat on top of him. "You're so sleepy." 

"I don't sleep much usually," he replied, inwardly marvelling at how comfortable she was. "And then I get woken up by you on top of me." 

"You like that!" she countered, beaming. "Daddy's making breakfast." 

"Mmmhmm..." Alex murmured, turning his face into the pillow. When he felt little fingers playing through his hair, he looked up. "Hey!" 

"Your hair is so pretty," she said. "Can I brush it?" 

Unable to see any hidden spikes in the innocent question, Alex shrugged. "If you want." 

Jordan clasped her hands together for an instant, then jumped down from the couch, trotting off to her bedroom. Alex smiled. He had to admit that he was fond of the kid. She soon came back, armed with hair accessories. 

"Hey!" he protested. "You just said brushing. Not clips and stuff." 

"Please?" she asked, looking at him with puppy-dog eyes. 

Alex smiled, but shook his head. Jordan sighed, then climbed on the couch behind him. Alex felt the gentle teeth of a brush being pulled through his hair. After a minute, she stopped, and stood up. "All done." 

"Thanks," he said, smiling a little. Jordan grinned in reply, and took all the other hair accessories back to the bedroom. Alex stood up, pulling on Frank's sweatpants and heading into the kitchen. Frank took one look at him, and smiled a little. 

"I see Jordan did your hair." 

Immediately suspicious, Alex brought his hand up to his hair, stroking through it. His hand came back down holding a bright pink fluffy clip. Frowning, he said, "She said just brushing." 

"You live, you learn," Frank quipped, handing Alex a plate of food. He sat down at the table, plate in front of him. After a minute, Jordan came out. 

"Hey, Jordan." Alex frowned mock-sternly at the girl. "I said just brushing." 

She giggled. "Oh well." Turning to her father, she asked, "Can I have some breakfast, Daddy?" 

"Sure, sweetheart," he said, handing her a plate. She sat opposite Alex, and after a couple of minutes, Frank joined them. 

"You got school today, Jordan?" Alex asked the little girl between mouthfuls. 

"Yes," she answered, eating her cereal. 

Conversational dead end. Frank watched as Alex appeared to have some sort of fascination with his plate, and Jordan with her spoon. Finally he had to ask her. "Jordan, what's with the spoon?" 

As if surprised to hear someone talk, Jordan looked up from her spoon, towards her father. Keeping the utensil in the air like a flaming torch, she grinned. "I look funny in it." 

Frank exchanged a glance with Alex, then reached over to touch her cheek. "You look funny all the time, sweetie." 

"Hey!" she yelped in reply, then giggled. Alex smiled wanly at the two of them. 

"Jordan, go get your school gear, okay? We'll drop you off on our way to DC." Frank smiled fondly at his daughter, who jumped down from the table and obeyed. 

A thick lock of hair was falling into Alex's eye, and he absent-mindedly brushed it back, tucking it behind his ear. "Guess I should get ready then." 

"You can just wear that outfit, can't you?" 

"Not if I'll be dealing with the Consortium, I can't. You want me to find out about Paul? Give me a minute, your bedroom, and some hair gel, and I'll be ready." Alex got up from the table, and went through into the living room to get his clothing from the first night. 

Several minutes later, Jordan, all ready for school, was standing beside the door waiting. Frank took his pale tan cargo jacket, slipping it on. "Hey, Alex!" 

"Yeah, coming..." After a minute, Alex came tripping into the living room. He looked every bit the hardened assassin again. His entire outfit was black, hair slicked back close to his head. 

Jordan frowned up at him. "I did your hair nicer." 

He smiled back at her, then looked at Frank. "So." 

"Let's go." Frank opened the door for Jordan to tumble out of. The two men followed at a more sedate pace. 

"I'll meet you later, okay?" Alex leaned back into the Jeep to talk to Frank. "Four o'clock." 

"Make it a bit later," Frank replied. He handed over his cellphone number, scribbled onto a piece of paper. The younger man tucked it into his back pocket. "I'm going to have to pick Jordan up and drive back here. Five okay?" 

"Okay. See you then." He turned, and was about to walk off, when Frank stopped him. 

"Hey. Where are you going?" 

Krycek grinned in reply. "New York, New York." 

* * *

Krycek shifted uncomfortably. Lying wasn't exactly a foreign concept to him, but it was different lying to Frank. The man had a knack for getting the strangest reactions out of Krycek, and he hated it. Showing emotion—like he had the night before—made you vulnerable. Vulnerability was a Bad Thing. 

But there was no reason Frank needed to know where he was really going today. Sure, his bosses usually hung about in New York, but lately they'd been DCers. It made them easier to contact, that was for damn sure. 

When Frank had been away the previous night, Alex had made arrangements for a meeting with the Smoking Man, in the back of a shady nightclub they often used for such purposes. Alex was at the back door of the nightclub five minutes prior to the meeting time they'd arranged. 

Opening the door with his back, Alex slipped inside the club. He looked around for the cloud of smoke which usually followed his sometime-employer around. Soon enough, he saw it, and seated himself at the table, across from the sack of cancer. 

"Hello Alex," the old man said cheerfully. "Enjoying family life?" 

"You knew," the younger man hissed. 

"We know everything. Including everything about prostitutes." 

Alex raised both eyebrows in a silent question. 

"Your mother was a prostitute, Alex." 

"My mother was not a fucking whore," he spat, leaning across the table. 

The man exhaled smoke into Alex's face, causing him to cough loudly. "Had you convinced yourself that Natalia and Frank loved each other very much?" He paused, stubbing out the cigarette and lighting another. "Well. I'm sorry, Alex. You were the product of a one night stand." 

For a minute, he didn't reply, looking around the bar. Then he sighed. "That's not why we're here. Where the fuck is Paul? Who is he?" 

"Paul's dead. You ensured that, and I must thank you for it." 

"My ass he's dead. His body's disappeared. Now either you tell me who and where he is, or-" Underneath the table, Krycek took out his gun and pressed the barrel to the Smoking Man's knee. "The nice decor of this bar is going to be ruined." 

The smoking man attempted to keep panic down deep, underneath everything, where it belonged. "I'm sure I don't know where Mr. McDermott is at this present time." 

"Yeah. Right." There was the unmistakeable sound of a safety being clicked off a gun. 

"I don't believe you'd shoot me, Alex, would you?" The smoking man, seemingly confident in this prognosis, blew some smoke at the other man. "You can't finish anything." 

"Like hell I can't." 

"Well, good. We need you to finish what you started last week." There was a pause. "The senator." 

"Aw, fuck you." Krycek frowned at him. "Get Paul to do it." 

"Don't want to displease Daddy, hmm?" 

Krycek narrowed his eyes. "I don't give a shit about Frank Black." 

"Then do this last thing we need from you." 

The smoking man stared at Krycek as he stared at a spot on the wall. Krycek turned back to him. "I'll do it. In exchange for information about Paul McDermott." 

"What do you want to know?" 

"Where's he killed before?" 

"Frank will know." The smoking man smiled a little. "He's met him before." 

"Where is he?" Krycek pressed the barrel harder into the other man's knee. The Smoking man looked back at him. 

"I'm sure you can find him. You're a smart young man." He paused. "In his apartment." 

"Fine," Krycek replied, standing up and sliding his gun into its holster. "Thank you." 

The man simply nodded, as Krycek left the bar. He was learning. 

* * *

The senator was to be his top priority. He knew the fucker would be on his lunch break, and Krycek even knew the cafe he'd be dining at. It was only a few blocks away from the club, and Krycek walked briskly down a side street. 

The cafe was brightly lit, and from across the street, Krycek could see that the senator was not alone. A man was sitting across the table from him, a young man dressed all in black. His hair was reasonably long, and overall, the man was quite good looking. Krycek noticed that neither man was talking. 

After a minute, the younger man looked up as the senator rose from the table, finished. Krycek took that as his cue, and went over to the cafe. 

Krycek had discarded care, sick of being so perfect with every detail. He didn't give a damn any more if he got caught. He was going to blow that man's head off in front of everyone, and then run for his worthless life. 

As he reached out to open the front door, it opened inwardly, and the young man in black came out, looking at Krycek. "Where are you going?" 

Taken aback by the man's forwardness, Krycek glared at him. "None of your fucking business." 

"I believe it is," he replied, stepping up to Krycek. Uncomfortably, Krycek stepped back. "You're going to kill him, aren't you? It's not his time." 

"My ass it's not." Krycek glared at the man. "Who the fuck are you, huh?" 

"You'll learn that when you need to," he replied. The door opened behind him, and the senator came out. 

* * *

Steven McLain hated being out on the streets. More so now, when everyone was gone. Any one of the rats crawling the streets could be the cold bastard who had killed the only people he held dear. Through heavy-lidded eyes, Senator McLain looked darkly at the young man outside the cafe. Those sorts of people made him nervous. Much as his public appearances showed that he cared about them, secretly he hated them. This one seemed insane, talking to himself. 

As the man looked over at him, Steven quickened his pace. 

"I have a goddamn _job_ to do," the man hissed, looking at the senator. "I don't know what the fuck you want." 

He wasn't talking to anyone, but apparently thought he was. Unnerved, Steven hurried to his car, unlocked it, and got into the driver's seat. As the strange man looked around at him, he drove off. 

* * *

"Now he's gone, How am I supposed to kill him with surveillance around his house?" Krycek scowled at the other man. The senator had been looking at him like he was crazy. 

"You're not. It's not right." The dark-haired guy looked at Krycek, strange expression on his face. 

"I'm going to get killed if I don't kill the jerk." 

"If that's what you think, then you will. It isn't the Senator's time." The guy turned to walk away, and Krycek took his arm. 

"Where the hell are you going?" 

The man didn't answer, and took his arm away without Krycek knowing how. He walked off without saying another word, 

* * *

The policemen outside the senator's house looked surprised to see him at home early. They bade him good afternoon, and he went inside. The house held a lot of memories in it, a lot of ghosts. He went through to the kitchen, getting a black coffee. He felt distinctly uncomfortable, but couldn't explain why. 

Behind him, a crash sounded, and instantly on edge, Steven spun around. It was simply a clock, fallen to the floor and smashed. He went over and picked it up. It was an old clock, the face shattered, the hands frozen in their movement. 

Steven stood up again, taking the pieces over to the sink and leaving them on the stainless steel. One of the shards of glass from the clock face had sliced his finger open, and blood was pouring from it. He ran some cold water, putting his finger under the stream. Blood diluted, mixing with the water and going down the drain. He watched, transfixed. 

* * *

Krycek stopped the car at the end of the street, getting out. It was broad daylight—unusual for him—and he was sort of nervous about being seen. There were cops all around the senator's house, watching out for people. Krycek was more than slightly surprised they still kept it up after more than a week, but he supposed the senator had instructed it so. 

He fingered his gun, wishing in some offhand corner of his mind that he had his gloves. However, he didn't particularly care about fingerprinting. Meticulously ensuring every detail was taken care of was in his past. 

Slipping into a neighbouring yard, Krycek looked through a gap in a hedge to find that the guys around the back had apparently given up. Too bad for them, he thought to himself, as he slipped through the gap. 

Silently, he jogged across the short expanse of lawn until he came to the house. The best way to get in, or so he thought, would be up the trellis, the way he'd exited after killing the wife. But going up with one hand was a different story from going down, completely and utterly. 

Krycek stood back, looking over the back of the house. All the windows were shut tightly on the lower floor, the door bolted shut. He frowned. This wasn't going to be as easy as originally anticipated. 

An officer, whistling cheerfully, came around the back of the house. He saw Krycek, and frowned, drawing his gun. "Hey, buddy, who are you?" 

Not answering, Krycek stepped towards him, smiling a little. The guy stepped back. "Hey, I'll shoot. Stop there!" 

Allowing himself to be amused at the stupid idiot's face, Krycek scowled. He punched the guy hard in the head, grinning as he fell to the soft grass with a low thud. He leaned down and proceeded to remove the man's clothing. 

* * *

Lieutenant Miller wasn't having the best of days. His wife, Ellie, had been yelling at him that morning that his job was taking over his life. Greg Miller disagreed, but then had to cut the argument short in order to go to work. To add to his annoyance over that, it was damned hot, and he was dressed in full uniform. 

Nothing was happening at the senator's house. In fact, they'd laid off the high-security, only bringing it back because Bob Giebelhouse had instructed them to. 

Todd had gone around the back of the house, as they did at ten-minute intervals, to check all was fine. As Greg watched, Todd came back around the front, giving him a thumbs up sign with his right hand. Greg nodded, and turned around. Todd walked inside. 

* * *

As soon as Krycek got inside, he threw away the cap, and also the jacket. Both were slightly too tight. The jeans, however, were Krycek's. 

Slowly, he moved through and stood beside a plant pot. In the kitchen, he could see the senator, cradling his hand. Krycek crouched down, watching. After a minute, his hand instinctively slipped down to take his gun. The silencer was off the gun. Krycek slid the revolver out, cocking it, holding it in front of his face. 

The senator, as if sensing something, turned around. "Hello?" he called out, shakily. 

When he turned back around, Krycek stood up, holding the gun down at his side. He walked into the kitchen, to the senator's back. He simply stood there, waiting for the senator to turn around. 

After a minute of silence, he did. The expression in the instant he saw Krycek was priceless, and Krycek almost had to laugh out loud. The senator's bloodied hand shot down to take Krycek's left, and he looked the younger man in the eyes. "It's you. Why are you doing this?" 

"It's how it must be," Krycek sneered, wishing the man would drop his prosthetic. "You shouldn't dabble in things you know nothing about." 

"I... I haven't!" Steven looked pleadingly into Krycek's unsympathetic face. "Please don't kill me..." 

Shaking his head at the frailty and stupidity of the pleading, Krycek brought his gun up to press into the senator's belly. He was about to pull the trigger, when a noise from behind stopped him. Krycek turned to find the doorways out of the kitchen ablaze, a bright fire licking up the walls. 

Ignoring it, Krycek turned back to the senator. He frowned at him, wondering why the senator didn't seem to notice the flames. In sudden panic, wondering if it was just his imagination it was a little bit harder to breathe, Krycek pulled the trigger. The senator dropped to the floor, and Krycek fired again. 

Lung punctured, the senator lay on the floor, struggling to breathe. Krycek ignored him, looking around in panic for an escape route. The only option was the bolted window, and he hurled his gun at it. The glass shattered, and Krycek climbed out it, glass tugging at his clothing and ripping some skin from his right hand. 

* * *

Jordan stood up suddenly from her desk, holding her right hand tightly. Her teacher looked at her. 

"Jordan, are you okay?" 

She shook her head wildly. "The fire! Please put the fire out!" 

The teacher went over to the little girl, taking her by the shoulders. "There's no fire, Jordan. What's wrong with your hand?" 

"It hurts!" 

All the children had fallen silent, watching the scene between the two. Jordan closed her eyes. "Please put the fire out," she whimpered. "Please?" 

Her teacher stood up. "Come on, Jordan, we'll go to the office." 

* * *

"There have been two shots fired," Miller shouted into the radio unit he held in his hand. "Repeat, two shots fired." He motioned to his men, who swarmed around the house, entering slowly. He followed, going through the front door. 

The house was silent, and Miller didn't know where to look, until a quiet, strained groan came from the kitchen. He ran through, finding the senator on the floor. Leaning down, Greg cradled the senator's head, lifting his upper torso a little. "Sir? Who did this?" 

"Sunflowers. Twenty-eight, ninety-three, fifty-six." 

The man obviously struggled to speak the words, then fell back down. The policeman looked at the senator, then up at his men. "Find the killer, damnit!" 

* * *

Krycek clambered over the wall, and stopped in his tracks. That man, from outside the cafe. Krycek looked at him for an instant, then turned away. He didn't want to deal with that strange man. 

"Look back at the house," the man said. Krycek frowned at him, then did as told, looking back at the senator's home. 

With a strange look, Krycek turned back. "What the... the house was on fire!" 

"Was it?" 

Krycek frowned at him, then, hearing shouts from behind, sprinted off towards the street. 

* * *

Frank's cellphone rang, and he answered it. "Hello?" 

"Mr Black?" a woman's voice asked from the other end of the phone. 

"Yes... who is this?" 

"Jennifer Smith from Greendale Elementary. It's about Jordan." 

Frank immediately pulled over to the side of the road, in order to give the phone his full attention. "What about Jordan? Is she okay?" 

"Look, I think you should get down here." The woman sounded uncomfortable. 

"I'm just on my way back to Virginia. Tell her I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?" 

"I'll tell her," the woman replied, and Frank found himself with a dialtone. He sighed, and pulled out on the road, worry washing over him. 

* * *

"Frank Black," Frank introduced himself. "I got a phone call about my daughter, Jordan..." 

"Right through there," the woman behind the desk replied, coming around to talk to Frank. "She broke down in class, claiming her hand hurt, just out of the blue, and asking everyone to put out the fire. We didn't know what else to do." 

He nodded, going through into the room Jordan was in. She was in a bed, sitting on top of it. He walked over to her, and knelt down. "What is it, honey?" 

"There was a fire, Daddy." 

He looked up at the receptionist, who shook her head. He turned back to Jordan. "Sweetheart, there wasn't a fire. Are you sure?" 

"There _was_! And my hand hurt." She looked down at her right hand. "Like it was bleeding." 

"Your hand's fine, Jordan. What happened?" 

"I saw fire. And a man." 

"A man?" 

She nodded sagely. "Samiel." 

* * *

"Aw, shit," Krycek muttered, wiping the blood from his hand onto his jeans. The glass had cut deeply, and shards were probably still in the wound. He looked up, at the nondescript white door. He was at Paul's apartment. 

Using his prosthetic, he rapped lightly, underarm, on the door. "Paul. You son-of-a-bitch, get your sorry ass out here." 

It only took a minute more of curses and threats of violence to get Paul to answer the door. He looked Krycek up and down, then grinned. "Didn't expect this meeting any time soon." 

Krycek shoved past him and entered the apartment. "You were dead. Now you're not. What the hell's the story?" 

"I'm a professional," was his simple answer. "You missed. I faked it." 

"You faked it." 

"Alex Krycek, if you're a professional, as you are not, you can slow your breathing and pulse down so that everyone believes you're gone." 

Krycek looked at him for a minute, then shook his head. "You're such a fucking freak, Paul." 

"Ah, yes, but I'm also brilliant at it." Paul looked at him. "I'm never caught." 

Angered, Krycek stepped up and caught him by the collar of his shirt, shoving him against a wall. His cut throbbed in protest, but Krycek ignored it purposely. "You were a serial killer, right?" 

"In Seattle, a year ago," Paul supplied cheerfully. "How'd you know?" He looked at Krycek's hand. "Oh, nasty cut. You get sliced by your own cock ring?" 

Krycek narrowed his eyes, then dropped the other man. "Who the hell are you?" 

"I go by many names," the man said. "Paul is just one of them." He stepped up to Krycek, taking him by the shirt, and throwing him across the room. Krycek hit the wall hard, and, dizzy, looked up, as the man's face shifted and changed. 

He blinked. Did he see that correctly? 

"Lucy's another," Paul—?—said, in a woman's voice. Krycek's eyes widened. "Lucy Butler." 

"Shit," Krycek murmured. He was in for it, now. 

The woman's face and body changed as he watched, and it took him an instant to recognise the main guy from the Siberian forest. He grinned, as Krycek shifted up against the wall uncomfortably. 

* * *

Jordan suddenly screamed, causing Frank to take her by the shoulders. She continued screaming, until speaking, "It's going to hurt me! No!" 

"Jordan," he called softly. "Come on, honey." 

A receptionist came in behind him, and looked at the two of them. "Oh my God... she's having a seizure." 

"Don't let him hurt me..." she whimpered, focusing on her father's face. "Don't let him hurt _Alex_!" 

Frank startled. "What?" 

"Alex, he's going to hurt Alex." 

Frank watched her for a minute, realising she had to have some sort of telepathic connection with her half-brother. "Jordan, what do you see?" 

"A man... a woman. White..." 

Watching the girl's face, contorted in pain, Frank stood up, walking out of the room. As if on cue, his phone rang. 

* * *

Krycek looked up again. The man had changed forms again, now looking like Detective Giebelhouse, and talking on the phone. 

"Frank, this is Giebelhouse," the man who had been Paul said into the phone. Krycek shifted uncomfortably, and the man went on. "The senator's been killed. I have the killer here." 

Krycek started edging towards the door. 

"Get down here as soon as you can. See you soon." The man, looking like Detective Giebelhouse, hung up. He smiled down at Krycek. "We'll be taking a little trip." 

As soon as the man turned his back on Krycek, he whipped out his gun, and fired it at him. The wound began to bleed green acidic liquid, and Krycek scrambled to his feet, sprinting out the door. 

* * *

"He's lying to you, Daddy," Jordan sobbed, throwing herself into her father's arms. "He's lying! The man's bleeding." 

Afraid for his daughter, Frank picked her up. Without saying a word to anyone, he walked out the door. Jordan continued sobbing, and Frank wondered about her. What was it? 

Perhaps she was seeing... and feeling... what Alex was. He wondered where Alex was. 

Just as he placed Jordan in the car, Frank's phone rang. He answered it. "Frank Black." 

"Frank, this is Giebelhouse. We got another dead body." 

"I haven't forgotten in the three minutes since you last called me, Giebelhouse." 

"I ain't called you," he replied, sounding surprised. "The senator's been shot." 

Stunned, Frank looked towards Jordan in the car. He's lying to you, Daddy. "Giebelhouse, I don't know what's going on right now. You're sure you didn't call me?" 

"Frank, I don't think I'm gonna be mistaken about somethin' like that. The interesting thing here, is that it ain't that McDermott guy. We got blood, we got fingerprints, we got everything you want. Fibres..." 

"It's not?" Frank replied, in shock. "It's not him?" 

"Look, I'm gonna run some tests on the blood and fingerprints. I know who I think this is." 

"Who?" 

"That Krycek guy we thought originally. There ain't nothing to say it wasn't him, and none of the killin's 'cept the whore's are like Three Way." 

"It's not him..." Frank said quietly. "It can't be." 

"Sure looks like it from here, Frank." 

"I'll be down there... where are you?" 

"The station. I'll wait here for you." 

Frank nodded. "I'll have Jordan with me, though." 

"Yeah. Bye." 

Hanging up the phone and shoving it into a pocket, Frank got into the car, and sighed. It couldn't be Alex. He wouldn't be that stupid. Surely. 

* * *

Krycek didn't bother looking over his shoulder, simply running for his life. He didn't know what to do... where to go. Paul was one of those goddamn shape shifters. In many ways, it didn't surprise Krycek. But he'd be targeted. And if Frank had believed the guy, then Frank was in danger. Krycek burst into a shop on the side of the street. 

"Let me use the phone," he whispered desperately. No one answered, and he took out his gun. "Let me use the goddamn phone!" 

A couple of screams, and a woman shakingly handed him the phone. He slammed it down on the countertop, grabbing Frank's phone number out from his pocket. He dialled it. 

"Frank Black," Frank answered. 

"Frank," Krycek practically yelled into the phone. "Where are you?" 

"Alex? Tell me you haven't done something idiotic." 

Dismayed, he looked into the receiver. Unable to answer, he let the receiver slip to the ground. He turned and ran out of the store. 

* * *

"Alex?" Frank frowned at the phone, as if it was responsible. "Alex!" 

There was no answer, and Frank slammed down his cellphone in sudden anger. He glanced over at Jordan, who looked delicate and vulnerable. 

He stepped on the accelerator. 

* * *

"Frank," Giebelhouse called as the older man pulled up in the carpark. "Everything's away for testing. We'll know soon enough if Krycek's the killer." 

Keeping an eye on Jordan, in the Jeep, Frank went over to the detective. "You really think he is?" 

"Yeah, I do." Giebelhouse handed over a file, which, when Frank opened it, contained some polaroid pictures of the crime scene. 

"These were done quickly." 

"This case got top priority," Giebelhouse pointed out. 

Frank nodded simply, and just stood there. He couldn't believe it. If it was Alex—and there was no doubt, even in his mind, that it was—then, he had gone against everything the two of them had silently agreed to. Frank felt hurt... and betrayed. He'd never been so close to a case before, even when Helen had been taken. She wasn't the suspect then, and Bletch had told him to step down. Inwardly, Frank wondered what Bletch would think of his current situation. It was pretty much a no-brainer. 

He turned to Giebelhouse. "I've got to go to DC. There's some things I need to do." 

"Yeah. Later, Frank. I'll call you with the results." 

Frank nodded, and walked back to the Jeep. 

* * *

Several hours later, after driving to and around Washington, Frank hadn't found Alex. It was past the time they'd arranged to meet, and still he hadn't turned up. Jordan was getting decidedly fidgety, and Frank had stopped to get her dinner. Himself, he was too nervous to eat. 

"Daddy, are we looking for Alex?" 

Frank turned to her, surprised at the observation. Since they'd left the school, nothing had happened with her... he wasn't sure what to think of them as. Visions? Seizures? "Yes, sweetheart. We are." 

She sighed. "Why do you think he's here? He's probably at home." 

"Why do you think so?" Frank asked gently. Jordan shrugged. 

"He's not here, is he?" 

Good point, Frank thought. Still, they weren't getting anything done in DC. May as well head back home. 

* * *

"Alex?" Frank called as he opened the door. "Are you in here?" 

"Yeah..." came the quiet answer. Frank let out a breath he'd absent-mindedly been holding in. 

He turned to Jordan. "Sweetie, can you go have a bath?" 

A sigh from the little girl. "It's too early." 

Frank ruffled her hair. "I know, but I need to talk to Alex, okay?" 

"Okay." Jordan went off down the hall, and a minute later, Frank heard the sounds of her bath running. When the water stopped, and splashing started, he went through into the living room. Alex was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, staring into space. Frank watched him for a minute. 

"Why'd you do it?" 

A simple question, but Alex seemed to have to think before he answered. Then, just as simply, "It had to be done." 

"Why?" 

Alex didn't stop staring blankly. "Information. It was an exchange. My services for information about Paul." 

"What?" Frank was taken aback. Because he needed... wanted... some information about a man, Alex had killed someone? 

"Frank, would you kindly get a clue? I killed him because I was told to. You don't disobey them." 

"Alex, we had a deal..." 

"My ass we did," Alex snapped. "If it isn't in writing, it isn't valid for anything. I didn't agree to a thing." 

Frustrated, Frank raised his voice. "Don't you even realise what this means? Not only, because of your carelessness, that you're going to jail, but my neck's on the line for lying. This just doesn't impact on you, you know." 

"No one else matters." 

"How apathetic are you, Alex? Can't you care about anyone?" 

"No, I can't," Alex replied, voice hollow. "I only give a shit about myself." 

"That much is obvious." 

"Hey," Alex said, standing up suddenly. "Where the fuck do you get off making judgements about me like that?" 

"Alex, whether you like it or not, I'm your father. And you went out and killed someone this afternoon. I have every right to make judgements about you right now." Frank looked the younger man in the face, expression challenging. 

"I don't need this. I don't need you. Hell, Frank, I survive. I don't need this. So far in life I've been fine following my philosophy of killing whoever needs to be killed, of not caring about anyone except myself." 

"You killed someone!" Frank exclaimed, wondering if Alex even realised what that meant. "Does that even matter to you?" 

"I didn't know him. He had to die. I don't have anything to do with it. I simply punish those who deserve it." 

"What about the families of the people you kill? What about them, Alex?" The conversation was beginning to get too close to home, and Frank was uncomfortable. 

"I don't know them, and I don't quite frankly give a fuck." 

"You go through there," Frank pointed down the hall. "And talk to a girl. Your sister. Who lost her mother last week. And then tell me honestly that you don't give a fuck." 

"I don't care, okay? Look, Frank, I'm an assassin. This is what I do. This is who I am." 

Thoughts of the Millennium Group entered Frank's head, and he swallowed reflexively. "It isn't right." 

"I don't give a fuck what's right! It's what I have to do!" 

"You ask Jordan what she thinks about the man who killed her mother. That's how people are affected." Frank looked at the younger man, wondering how anyone could be so incredibly wrapped up in themselves. 

"I..." Alex left off, looking down the hallway. Jordan was standing there, wearing one of her father's shirts, dripping wet. She was crying, one hand holding onto the side of the doorway. 

Frank looked over at the girl, also. She must have heard them yelling at each other. 

Without saying anything, Jordan came through, and took Alex's hand. She looked at her father. "Alex saw an angel." 

Both Frank and Alex looked at her. Jordan simply stood there, clutching her brother's hand, and defiantly staring at her father. Eventually, Alex spoke, and his voice was a complete change from before, gentle. "What do you mean, Jordan?" 

She looked up at him, beaming through her tears. "You saw him. They can do magic, Alex, they can." 

Alex looked up at Frank, who was caught up in watching the two of them. There was silence for a full two minutes, until Jordan spoke. "Why did you kill a man, Alex?" 

He looked down at her, but didn't answer. Jordan finally spoke again. "He told you not to... right?" 

"Oh, Jordan," was all Alex could manage to whisper. 

Looking completely upset, Jordan dropped his hand and walked down the hall, finally entering her own room. The two men watched her go, then Frank looked at Alex. "I told you she picks up on these things." 

Simply staring blankly down the hallway, Alex nodded. 

* * *

Mulder nervously paced up and down the length of his apartment. He was trying to figure out what the obvious thing was, that he simply couldn't see. Detective Giebelhouse had e-mailed him through the information on the Senator's murder, including pictures. However, the Senator's last words were bothering Mulder. 'Sunflowers, twenty-eight, ninety-three, fifty-six.' 

There was something he was missing, along with every other detective on the case. Giebelhouse had mentioned in his e -mail that Frank was having some problems outside of work, and therefore, they were hoping for Mulder's help. 

He sat down on the leather couch, lounging out and grabbing some sunflower seeds. Shelling them in his teeth, Mulder went through several before stopping, and thinking. Sunflowers. Sun, seeds, beautiful flowers. 

When there were beautiful flowers, people made paintings of them. 

Sunflowers. By Vincent Van Gogh. 

Mulder reached for the phone and dialled the Detective's number, which he'd long since memorised. 

"Yeah." 

"Detective Giebelhouse, this is Agent Mulder. I need to know something about the Senator's house." 

"What? You got something?" 

Mulder grinned into the phone. "Maybe. Did he have any paintings around the house?" 

A pause. "Yeah, some. I ain't got an idea of which ones they were, though." 

"Meet me down there in ten minutes." After stating that, Mulder slammed down the phone, grabbed the printout of the Detective's e-mail, and his trenchcoat. Without saying a further word, he walked out the door. 

* * *

The two agents pulled up outside the Senator's house at the same time. Mulder was more than slightly surprised, having been under the impression that Giebelhouse was from Richmond. He asked the Detective. 

Giebelhouse shrugged. "I had a hunch something would come up tonight. So I stayed in DC." 

Mulder nodded. "Look, I have a feeling I know what the Senator's last words meant." 

"You do? Better man than me." 

The two walked inside, and Mulder started looking around. Giebelhouse watched him, then, "What the hell am I meant to be looking for?" 

"A painting with sunflowers in it." 

Giebelhouse looked at him strangely for a minute, then nodded. He walked upstairs, apparently continuing the search. Mulder stayed down. 

"Yo, Agent Mulder," Giebelhouse called from upstairs. "I think I got something." 

Mulder ran up the stairs, and came across Giebelhouse looking at a picture in the Senator's bedroom. Mulder followed his gaze, to find, as he had expected, a painting of Van Gogh's Sunflowers. 

Immediately, he reached out and took the painting down from the wall. Nothing was there. "Damnit," he hissed. 

"What?" 

Without answering, Mulder ran his hands over the wall, knocking. Eventually, his knock sounded hollow, and he grinned at Giebelhouse. "Does this seem as cliched to you as it does to me?" He punctuated his sentence by punching the wall. The wallpaper fell back easily, a strip covering the hole perfectly. Mulder smiled sheepishly, then pulled out a small safe. 

"Twenty-eight, ninety-three, fifty-six," Mulder mumbled, clicking it into the safe. It opened with a satisfying click, He grinned at the detective again, then reached into the box. His hand came out grasping papers. 

Giebelhouse looked at the special agent, how he seemed suddenly excited. Mulder leafed through them, then looked up at Giebelhouse, face lit up. "These are Department of Defence files." 

"What?" 

"Hard copies. The files. Everything our government is hiding about the existence of extra-terrestrial life." Mulder talked without thinking, leafing through the papers. "This is it!" 

Giebelhouse was still somewhat confused. "What is it?" 

Finally, Mulder put the papers down. He looked up at Giebelhouse. "These files were stolen, and I got hold of them. We managed to print out one hard copy, but the copy was taken by government higher-ups. Krycek stole the digital tape containing the encrypted files, and sold secrets from it. I haven't heard anything further, but now... these are the documents!" 

Not knowing what to say, Giebelhouse nodded. 

* * *

The Smoking man surreptitiously glanced around the shady alley. He was meeting 'Paul', but the shapeshifter was yet to turn up. The man drew a cigarette, his face briefly illuminated by the flame of the lighter. 

After five minutes, a figure appeared at the street end of the alley. His form was silhouetted against the headlights of cars and streetlights. The old man smiled a little. "I've been expecting you." 

"He knows who I am." 

"Alex Krycek knows?" The Smoking man paused, looking almost uncomfortable, but then brought his cigarette to his mouth, inhaling. Without speaking, he breathed the smoke out, and looked at the other man. "How?" 

"I showed him. It was time." 

"You're not to be the judge of that." 

The shapeshifter moved forward threateningly, and the smoking man smiled a little, shaking his head. 'Paul' stopped, looking around. "I should kill him." 

"Alex isn't worth it. We wouldn't waste your talents." 

"But he knows who I am." 

"What's he going to do? Kill you?" The man smiled, conveying his interpretation of that particular threat. "Leave him. Alex has plenty to deal with right now." 

The man smiled. "Just one last thing I must do." 

The Smoking man watched as the man's face and stature changed, eyes changing their colour to hazel, hair shortening and changing colour, nose elongating. Looking into Agent Fox Mulder's face, the man smiled, and nodded. 

* * *

Alex woke up with the feeling of something on his face. His next thought was that he couldn't breathe. Then, after opening his eyes, he realised that both were due to a pillow on top of him. He brought his right hand up to pull the pillow off, and it met with a squirming Jordan, whose head had been laying there. He felt her grab his hand, and jump onto the floor, tugging. Suddenly thrown off balance, he ended up falling, winding up only stopping himself from landing on her by hitting the floor with his hand. 

Jordan looked up at Alex, and giggled. 

He smiled back at her. "I guess I'm awake now, huh?" 

"Yup!" 

Alex pushed himself up, off the floor, and onto the couch. He looked at the little girl, who was staring back at him, somewhat adoringly. "You've got to stop waking me up, Jordan." 

She clambered up on his lap, and looked him in the eyes. "Are you going to stay here now?" She watched him carefully for the answer. 

"I don't know," he replied softly. "I'd like to, but I probably can't." 

She leaned into his chest, holding his hand with hers. "How come you and Daddy didn't tell me you're my big brother?" 

"How long did you listen to us last night, Jordan?" 

"Since you started fighting." She sighed. "I didn't know I had a brother." 

"Well," Alex replied, shifting her on his lap, "I didn't know I had a sister." 

"You didn't?" Jordan beamed up at him. "How come?" 

"I didn't even know Frank," he replied simply. 

"He's your daddy?" 

"Yeah, Jordan." Alex suddenly got the feeling someone was watching them, and looked up to see Frank. "Hey." 

Frank smiled in acknowledgment, then went through to the kitchen. Alex wondered momentarily if Frank was still angry, and went through to the kitchen. "Hey, Frank." 

No answer. 

"Frank." 

Still nothing. 

"Frank?" 

Suddenly, Frank turned around. "Alex, I'm not going to forgive you overnight. Don't expect that." 

Alex frowned. He'd never regretted killing someone before. Never. But Frank seemed to have a knack for getting unusual reactions out of people. It was strange... Alex almost felt angry at himself for hurting Frank, for pushing him over the edge. 

Jordan came in, trotting past Alex, to her father. He picked her up and hugged her. "Hey, honey. How are you?" 

"Good," she replied. "I woke Alex up." 

He smiled. "That doesn't surprise me, somehow." 

"Can I have breakfast?" 

"Sure," Frank replied, "Just hang on a minute." 

Alex hung back, leaning against the doorframe. He _didn't_ belong in this family environment. The contrast between what his life was really like, and how this life seemed, was too much. He felt like an observer, just watching how they interacted. 

After a minute, Frank handed a plate to Jordan, who seated herself at the table. He also handed a plate to Alex, who followed suit. 

Breakfast was terse and mostly silent, only a few words exchanged between Jordan and Frank. Alex simply sat there, going through the motions. He hated feelings. Hated anything like that. 

Eventually, Jordan left the table to get ready for school. Frank took away the empty dishes, glancing back at the table. Alex appeared lost in thought. 

"You coming to drop Jordan off?" Frank called to him. 

Alex snapped out of whatever world he'd been in. After a long pause, he answered, "Nope." Another pause. "I might not be here when you come home." 

Frank gave him a suspicious glance. "What time will you be back?" 

"Uh..." Alex avoided his father's eyes. "I won't be." 

"Doesn't surprise me." Frank walked to the door, getting his jacket. 

"What?"

"Nothing." 

Alex stood up, pushing back from the table, and went over to Frank. "No. What the hell did you mean?" 

"It doesn't surprise me that when something gets a bit uncomfortable for you, you get out." Frank looked Alex in the eyes. "I'd say it's what you've always done." 

"Hey, where do you get off making a statement like that?" 

"I'm right, aren't I?" 

Alex shifted uncomfortably. "No. You're wrong." 

"Then why are you leaving?" 

They were interrupted by Jordan coming out into the hallway, and standing beside her father. 

Alex looked at him. "Fine." 

Frank read the rest of the statement, and nodded. "Good." He took Jordan's hand, and opened the door. The two left. 

Wondering how, without saying much at all, Frank had managed to talk him out of a decision he'd come to, Alex stared at the back of the door. He didn't know what to do. 

* * *

The door, the numbers upon which read 42, was shut, and assumably locked. Mulder—the _real_ Mulder—was at work, and the man who could be anyone he wanted to, was outside the apartment. He tried the knob... locked. Simply twisting it harder, the knob became loose, and he could eventually open the door by himself. The man walked inside, and headed immediately for the computer desk. He rifled through all the papers there, looking for something. After a few minutes, he dropped everything, leaving a mess, and walked out the door. 

* * *

Mulder's phone rang, and he reached for it. "Mulder." 

"Mr Mulder, this is Susan Harrison from across the hall. I'm sorry to bother you at work, but.." 

"No, no, that's fine. What is it?" Mulder reached for a pencil, twirling it in his fingers. 

"I think your apartment's been broken into." 

"What?" 

Susan sighed. "I'm afraid so. The door's broken, and everything's extremely messed up." 

Mulder debated deadpanning that it was always extremely messed up, but decided against it. "Did you see who it was?" 

"I'm afraid not. I noticed that he was tall, and had dark hair..." 

Krycek, Mulder realised. 

"Why would they have done this?" The woman wondered aloud. 

Mulder knew exactly why, and he was holding the reason in his hands. The files. "Look, Miss Harrison, thanks for calling, okay? Bye." He replaced the phone, and stood up, turning to Scully. "Scully, someone's broken into my apartment. I've got to go home and make sure nothing's been taken." 

"Why did they break into your apartment?" Scully looked up at Mulder, question evident in her voice. 

"The files," Mulder replied, motioning towards the documents in question, lying on the desk. "Look, Scully. Guard them with your life. Don't let anyone touch them, okay? Especially not Krycek." With that, he walked out the door. 

"Why would I?" Scully asked, rhetorically, as her partner walked out the door. After a minute, he walked back in. She looked up, and smiled wryly. "That didn't take long." 

Mulder grinned. "I decided to take the files myself, instead of trusting you with them." 

"Trust no one, Mulder?" 

He ignored that statement, taking the papers. Without saying a further word to her, he walked out the door again. 

"Hey, did you change your tie?" Scully called after him. No answer. "Guess not," she muttered. 

* * *

Alex wandered aimlessly around the living room. His life was getting beyond his own understanding. He didn't know what to think about feeling regret, and what's more, he still didn't understand what that dark-haired man had been about. Jordan had said he was an angel, but Alex didn't know how she knew. The man hadn't seemed particularly angelic to him. He didn't know what to do. Frank was right... he wanted to leave, to get away and just forget all this ever happened, over several bottles of vodka. But at the same time, there was that need to have a family, to be loved. Even though he sure didn't care about anyone, it would be nice to be cared about for once. 

For once, he repeated inwardly. 

The sound of a car pulling up the driveway made Krycek startle, and jump for the couch. Frank soon came through the door. "I didn't expect you to be here when I returned." 

"Yeah, well, I am." 

Frank sat down on a chair. "Why?" 

"Don't ask questions like that," Alex replied quickly. In his thoughts, he finished, 'Because I might answer truthfully.' 

Nothing was said for a minute, then Frank apparently decided to start another subject. "Jordan... yesterday, she started having... seizures, visions... at school. Were you in fire, or near it at all?" 

Frowning at what seemed to be a non-sequitur, Alex replied, "Yeah. At the Senator's house. The house was on fire. But when I was outside, a guy told me to look back, and there was no fire." He offered his right hand. "I scrambled to get out so fast, that I cut myself on the window." 

Frank nodded. That 'guy' must have been the angel—and the man Samiel—that Jordan had talked about. "Alex, when we first met, you mentioned that you saw me in your mind's eye. Has that happened before?" 

"What do you mean?" Alex replied guardedly. 

A sigh from the older man. "Sometimes, when investigating cases, I get... visions. Snapshots, insights into what the killer was thinking. It's my gift. My curse. Jordan has something similar... but different. Do you know what I'm talking about?" 

Alex looked thoughtful. "I don't know how to explain it, but sometimes I see things that aren't there. What does Jordan see?" 

"Yesterday, at school, she was seeing through your eyes." Frank watched Alex for a minute, gauging his reaction. "But it's not always like that. I'm not sure what she sees." 

"The curse of the Blacks?" Alex asked jokingly, then when he saw that Frank was perfectly serious, he sighed. "Yeah." 

Frank watched Alex for a minute longer, then looked away. "You regret it, don't you?" 

Knowing what the older man was talking about, Alex nodded. "I've never regretted it before." 

As he did on rare occasions, Frank smiled. "You're not all that evil, Alex." 

"Yeah. Right." 

Frank simply stood up, and went to the door. "Giebelhouse called me on my carphone. He's got the results of the DNA tests, from yesterday. I've got to go down there and deny that they're correct." 

Alex searched his face for any sign of humour. He found none, and sighed. "Okay." 

* * *

"Yeah. Bye." Giebelhouse hung up the phone he was using, and turned around to greet Frank. "Hey, Frank." 

"Giebelhouse." 

"We got some bad news." 

"Just what I need," Frank replied, looking at the other man carefully. "What is it?" 

"The guys down at the labs lost the evidence. They ain't got any idea how it happened, and there ain't nothing they can do about it. My hands are tied, and we just have to complain about it." Giebelhouse turned back to the phone. "I've been making calls all mornin'." 

Stunned, Frank wondered if this was entirely accidental. "You're sure." 

"It ain't April the first, Frank. I'm sure." 

"So, all we have for evidence is..." 

"Nothing. Nada. Zip. We got everythin' we need for the report on the prostitute, and Catherine. But for the Senator's lot, nil per evidence." Giebelhouse didn't look particularly happy. "Which is gonna look great on a report." 

"The only thing left is to find where Paul McDermott is, then?" Frank studied the Detective, wondering when this case got so complicated. "And mark everything with the Senator unsolved?" 

"Yeah. We got nothing on the McDermott guy apart from a physical description, though. Nothing since. He may as well be dead, he's about as much use to us." 

"Like he's disappeared," Frank mused. "Or faded into the woodwork." 

* * *

By three o'clock, Alex still hadn't done anything useful, and still hadn't figured anything else out. He walked to the kitchen, intending to get something to eat. 

A knock sounded at the door, and Alex got up to answer it. He flung it open, and did a double take at the person on the doorstep. "Mulder?" 

"Krycek, I thought you might be here." Mulder replied, reaching in and grabbing the other man by his collar. He shoved him on the car hood, and slammed handcuffs on him. 

"Gee, Mulder, most of my dates at least buy me dinner before this stage of the night..." 

"Shut up," Mulder hissed, turning the other man over to face him. "You broke into my apartment." 

"I what?" 

"Admit it, you bastard. This morning. You were after my files." 

Krycek snorted. "Like I've had time this morning." 

"Come _on_ , my neighbour saw you." 

"Look, Mulder, I've been here all morning." Krycek used his foot, delivering a sharp kick to Mulder's knee. He stood up, glaring at the other man. "Your neighbour," Krycek accented the latter word, indicating disbelief, "Must be mistaken." 

Mulder glared at him, wanting to rub his knee. He was about to make some sort of sarcastic response, when something hit him in the back of the head. Mulder fell to the ground, and Krycek's eyes widened. "Mulder? What the hell..." 

His assailant appeared behind him, and Krycek frowned. Mulder. Two Mulders. It didn't take long for him to figure out that one of them was probably Paul. 

The second Mulder stepped forward, taking Krycek by the shoulders. "Krycek, are you okay?" 

Krycek turned around, extending his wrists for Mulder to take the handcuffs off. Mulder did so, and Krycek turned around again, flexing his wrist. "Yeah, I think I am." With that, he reared back and punched Mulder hard in the face. 

The other man staggered back, and Krycek sprinted off down the drive. After a minute, he heard the distinct sound of running footsteps behind him. 

A minute later, he found himself on the ground with Mulder on top of him. 

Mulder turned him over, and the two were face to face. As Krycek watched, the man's face shifted and changed, into Paul's. "You think you're so much more clever than you are, don't you?" 

"Fuck you, Paul," Krycek replied, in a low growl. 

"Oh, yes, you would have wanted to fuck me a minute ago, wouldn't you?" 

Krycek narrowed his eyes, glaring at the other man. They were caught in a face-off, when there was a shout from above. "Freeze! Federal agent, I'm armed. Stand up and keep your hands where I can see them." 

Giving Krycek one last glare, Paul stood up, and held his hands above his head. It was stalemate... Mulder didn't dare pull the trigger, and Krycek didn't know what to do at all. He had a stiletto in his jeans pocket, but wasn't sure if he'd be fast enough to get him in the back of the neck. Krycek was thoughtfully fingering the stiletto, when Frank's Jeep pulled down the street. 

All three men looked towards the car, and it pulled up sharply. Frank jumped out of the driver's side. "Hey!" 

The other door started to open, and Krycek was distracted from the situation at hand. Seeing Jordan get out, he instinctively yelled, "Jordan, get back in the car!" 

She looked innocently at Alex, not doing anything. Then her gaze obviously changed to Paul, in the middle. Alex looked as well, to see that he had changed forms again, to look like Catherine. 

The woman leaned down, opening her arms to Jordan. "Come here, sweetie." 

"No, Jordan!" Alex yelled, looking frantically at Frank. He ran over to his daughter, taking her in his arms. Mulder's gun was still trained on its target, but he was looking doubtful. 

"What are you doing, Frank?" 'Catherine' called, and Krycek stepped back, unnerved. He slowly drew out the stiletto, 

Frank looked helplessly at Alex, holding Jordan as she struggled to go to her mother. 

Krycek met Mulder's eyes, and the two just watched each other for a minute. Then, slowly, Mulder raised his gun above his head and fired. At the shot, Jordan startled, her gaze shifting away from her mother. Frank also looked at Mulder, and Alex seized the distraction, leaping forward and drawing the stiletto fully out. Before 'Catherine' could react, he drove the sharp point into the base of the woman's neck. 

A small wound appeared when he drew the weapon out, and green blood bubbled out. Krycek stood back, watching. He didn't move, gaze fixed on the liquid. 

Slowly, Mulder came around to Krycek's side. Firstly, he leaned forward, kneeling down. He rolled the body gently over, and a bundle of papers fell to the ground. Mulder took them, then stood up again. He didn't say anything, just standing there. After a minute, Frank, carrying Jordan, came over to join the other two. 

* * *

Giebelhouse squinted at the computer screen. He was almost finished both reports, on the two—what he believed were separate—cases. Neither had any real conclusion, but apparently that was quite normal or any case that Agent Mulder helped out with. 

It was only that afternoon that Frank had explained to him about the insistence that Krycek wasn't the killer. Apparently, Val Arntzen _was_ Alex Krycek. There was apparently more to the story, but Frank had been unwilling to elaborate. 

Nothing really made sense, least of all the death of Paul McDermott the day before. 

Giebelhouse sighed. 

* * *

Jordan was walking between her father and her brother, holding Frank's left and Alex's right hands. They were at the graveyard, heading for Catherine's grave. 

Once they got there, Jordan dropped both hands, and took a small angel statue out of her pocket. Her father had given it to her for Christmas. She held it, then reached forward and placed it on the stone. "Goodbye, Mommy." 

The two men watched the little girl, then turned to each other. Frank looked sad. "So, what are you doing now?" 

"I can't stay. I can't." 

Frank nodded. 

"This may be my family," Alex said by way of explanation, "But a family doesn't hold much of a place in my life. Yesterday made me realise that. If Jordan had..." He looked down at the girl. "I have to go." 

Frank nodded again, then was stuck for words. "There's not much to say, I guess." He paused. "Good luck, Alex." 

Nodding, Alex looked down at Jordan for an instant. Then he turned back to Frank, and impulsively leaned forward and embraced him. 

Alex then leaned down to Jordan's level. The little girl took his hand in both of hers, and smiled at him. He sighed. "Jordan, I'm leaving now." 

"No!" 

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I don't want to leave. But I have to." 

"Will you come back?" 

He smiled sadly at her. "I'll come back and visit, okay?" He leaned forward and took the girl in his arms, hugging her. Then he stood up. 

Alex drew two flowers out of his pocket, white roses. Gently, he placed them on the grave. 

Without looking at either Frank or Jordan, Alex turned his back, shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans, and walked off. Leaving the only people who would ever unconditionally care about him. 

* * *

The Smoking Man exhaled, taking the small box from the other man. Holding it in his left hand, he flicked it open with his right. Several vials, holding blood. A gun, some sheets of paper, some test results. He looked back up at the other man, and nodded. 

The other man smiled a little, uncomfortably, his moustache twisting up at both sides of his mouth. "This is what you wanted?" 

"It's exactly what I wanted," the man replied. He paused, taking a drag from his cigarette. The other man shifted uncomfortably. The Smoking man continued, "We'll be in touch, Mr Watts." 

He turned around, entering the warehouse. The click of the Smoking Man's shoes echoed through the aisles, until he found where he wanted to be. Reaching upwards, the man pulled down a nondescript brown container. Inside, were several boxes, identical to the one in his other hand. He placed the box the man had given him inside with the others, and put the container back on the stocking shelf. 

Turning, the Cigarette man walked back down the aisle, coming to the door. He opened it, and walked out the door. Then he turned around and shut, then locked, the door. 

The Smoking man brought his cigarette to his mouth, inhaling. Then he blew it out, and walked along the hallway. 

The man was content, once again, that all evidence had been buried. 

Deep within the Pentagon. 

End

* * *


End file.
